


A Heart So True

by Andante825



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Best Friends, Creative Hybrids of Pokemon and Mythical Creatures, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Familiars, Fix-It, Gen, Gift Fic, Good!Mimikyu, Minor Character Death, No Pokemon Expertise Required, No Serious Bashing, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-04-28 19:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andante825/pseuds/Andante825
Summary: Harry James Potter, age almost-seven, wants a friend - any friend, even a monster. His desperate wish calls a female Mimikyu to his side ... and everything changes.Covers several years, Work in Progress. I always complete posted fics.





	1. Meet Mimikyu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrilliantLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantLady/gifts).



When Harry was six years old, the boggart appeared.

(He later found out that she was, in fact, only distantly related to the boggart, but her defences were like enough that most wizards couldn’t tell the difference ... right up to the moment that _Riddikulus_ failed.)

He was lying in his cupboard, stripped down to his pants on his stained old crib mattress, wishing and wishing for someone to play with. It was evening in July, one week before his seventh birthday, and Dudley was playing with friends in the garden. Their voices came through the open window, and a bit of sunlight leaked round the edges of his cupboard door: sunlight, and the smell of a summer breeze.

 _I wouldn’t care what my friend looked like_ , Harry thought fiercely. His thin yellow blanket was twisted in both hands; it was close and much too warm in his cupboard. _I wouldn’t care whether they’re a person, or an animal, or even a monster …_

He knew all about monsters from movies on the telly. When Dudley was away on playdates or sleeping safe upstairs, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would watch whatever they liked, and sometimes this included monster movies (for Uncle Vernon) or very confusing soap operas (for Aunt Petunia). The monsters sometimes roared in a way that echoed with sadness, and then there was gunfire, followed by men speaking in solemn voices about abominations and freaks of nature not meant for this world. Harry felt very sorry for the monsters, and for himself.

But now he was not feeling sorry for himself – he was wishing as hard as he could, bending all his energy toward a single thought, a tiny point of light in the dark. _I want a friend, one that Dudley can’t scare away. A real friend that’s just mine. Any friend at all._

_Even a monster._

In the darkest, dustiest corner, something stirred.

***

As the light faded, he realised something was wrong.

It happened too quickly for sunset. When Harry sat up, he saw a black mist building like thunderclouds, blocking even the cracks in the door.

His jaw dropped, but he was suddenly too scared to make a sound.

 _You wished for a monster, and a monster appeared_. He nodded at this very reasonable thought. _Be polite and introduce yourself._

“Huh-huh-hullo,” he said. “I’m Harry James Potter. I’m almost seven years old. Who are you?”

The mist seemed to pause, then suddenly whooshed and swirled. A green light shone out, almost the same vivid shade as his eyes.

“Wow!” Harry said. He felt a moment’s primal terror – _the green light, the light that flashed like fire and then the pain_ – but shook his head and resolved again to make friends. He was six-almost-seven years old, his memory of that terrible night was very hazy, and the most important thing was that he could see again.

The light hung there for a moment, as if confused, and then whooshed again. This time it took the form of a playful wind. His yellow blanket danced up from the mattress, and Harry watched as the creature seemed to gather itself underneath.

“Don’t destroy it, please,” he said, suddenly worried. “I haven’t got another.”

The creature twirled, fanning out the ragged hem like a fancy dress. It was the blanket he'd been wrapped in as a baby, the only comforting thing he'd ever owned.

Harry laughed – quietly, so as not to disturb his aunt and uncle.

“If you really like it, I guess you can keep it. It’s summer anyway.”

The green glow faded. In the light from the door, Harry saw that the creature had sort of bundled itself underneath his blanket. It appeared to have a base, or possibly a single foot, with claws all around. It had found (or torn) two holes in the weave and was peering through them. Its beady black eyes held a gleam of intelligence – and, Harry thought, friendliness.

“You are a wonderful monster,” he said sincerely. “What’s your name? How old are you?”

The monster jumped up beside him on the mattress. He felt its very slight weight, and saw those midnight eyes lift to meet his.

 _I am Mimikyu_ , it thought. Its voice reminded him of dried rose-petals, dusty and still somehow lovely. _I don’t know how old I am, or how I came to be here. But I want to be your friend._

“You do? You really do?”

 _More than anything. And do you want to be_ my _friend?_

“More than anything,” Harry said, his green eyes glowing (literally, although he didn’t know this). “I will always be your friend.”

Mimikyu set one dark claw, very gently, on Harry’s arm. _We will always be together_ , it thought firmly. A spark jumped between them, tickling, and then winked out.

“I promise,” Harry said. “Um … what do you eat?”

***

His worries that he might not be able to feed his new pet proved unfounded. Mimikyu assured him that so long as Harry was careful to express his feelings, both good and bad, then she would have plenty to eat, and that this wouldn't hurt him. (He’d asked his new friend if it was a boy or a girl, and she told him she was female. He promptly named her “Mimi,” which made the little Mimikyu twirl in her sunshine-yellow dress before snuggling up to keep watch as he slept.)  

At his new friend’s request, Harry snuck in a handful of blackberries from the garden, looking away politely as Mimi painted a cheerful face on his old blanket. His friend had told him that she didn’t really like to be seen, and that if Harry hadn’t been so special, he’d have fallen sick from his brief glimpse of her true form. Harry didn’t know about that – how could a freak who lived under the stairs be “special”? – but was very grateful not to get sick. Aunt Petunia gave him medicine when she absolutely had to, but he still had to do his chores, even with a fever.

When he looked back, Harry saw that his friend’s dress was crowned by a blackberry-juice lightning bolt, just above the eyeholes. He couldn’t help grinning at that.

“You look so pretty,” he said, and Mimi bobbed happily.

The summer flew by. Harry loved talking to Mimi, who sometimes responded (if he was making eye contact) and sometimes simply listened. He told her all about his days, and she never seemed bored or impatient. When Dudley bruised his arms, Mimi would set her cool claws gently on his skin and make it better. When his hands blistered from working in the garden, she would burble angrily while dabbing his tears with a corner of her dress.

On July 31st, she hummed “Happy Birthday” and did a funny little dance to make him laugh. It was the happiest birthday he could remember. The happiest _day_ he could remember, excepting when his friend first appeared.

And then, on Halloween night, Uncle Vernon opened his cupboard and discovered Mimikyu.

***

They’d talked about this. What to do, if Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon or even Dudley happened to see her.

Stay very still. Pretend to be a ragdoll. Hope they couldn’t see her for the shadows.

Unfortunately, when Vernon opened the cupboard, she was comforting a distraught Harry. He’d just learned (from Dudley) that his parents’ drunken, fatal car crash had happened on Halloween.

Mimi was sitting beside him, her shining black eyes fixed on his, saying _I love you, Harry, and you know we’re friends forever, even if your parents are gone, I’m always here_ , when Vernon threw the door open with a crash.

“BOY, IF YOU PUT ONE TOE OUT OF – HOLY MOTHER OF MARY! WHAT IS THAT THING?!”

Mimi shrank into Harry’s side, and he curled his arms around her. He was a small boy, small enough to sleep on a crib mattress with room to spare, but she was smaller still and he had to protect her.

“It’s just a stuffed animal, Uncle Vernon. I made it out of my old blanket.”

Uncle Vernon swore. “Give it here, boy!”

Harry froze.

“I SAID, GIVE IT HERE!”

Then three things happened very fast:

Mimi rose into the air, spinning like a miniature tornado.

Uncle Vernon shouted “PETUNIA!” and Aunt Petunia skidded into the hallway, dressed in an absurd pink dress and purple crown for Beggars’ Night.

Harry grabbed for Mimi and succeeded only in pulling off her makeshift dress, revealing her shifting form to his aunt and uncle.

(And all hell broke loose.)

***

He hadn’t known, before, that Mimi’s true form (which looked something like an oily black cloud) could shift instantly into whatever vision would best defend her.

For Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, she took on the form of a man with a very long, white beard holding a long, white stick. When she brandished the stick, Harry realised it must be a wand, because red sparks flew out of one end and a spell shot out.

Aunt Petunia shrieked and dodged, dropping her own pink plastic wand. (She seemed to be dressed up as a good fairy, which Harry thought was pretty rich.) Uncle Vernon made a sound like a wounded bull and tried to charge toward Mimi, which meant running straight into the spell.

Ropes lashed around his body instantly, like a spider wrapping an especially juicy fly. They were so thick that Harry could hear him gasping for air, and it was impossible to see where the ropes began or ended. He wobbled for a moment, off-balance, and then crashed face-first into the cupboard, banging his head on the floor.

Aunt Petunia was screaming, and Uncle Vernon seemed to be knocked out, and Dudley was thundering down the stairs – and then the owl arrived.

It flew in through the open window by the garden and dropped a piece of paper on Uncle Vernon’s back. Harry leaned down, fingers trembling, and unrolled it.

He couldn’t read all of it, but the words “use of magic” and “by your house shortly” were easy. It seemed to be written with a real ink pen, and the paper was nice and crinkly.

The doorbell rang.

Mimi had shrunk quietly back into her dress. Aunt Petunia was kneeling by her husband, checking his pulse and yelling for Dudley to call 999. In her panic, she’d forgotten that earlier that day, her clever Dudders had busted up every telephone in the house (as well as the vacuum cleaner) to make his robot costume.

“I’ll get it!” Dudley yelled back, and stomped to the door.

Before Aunt Petunia could stop him, he’d opened it and let in two people: a tall, handsome black man with an earring (Harry was instantly impressed) and a rather frightening older white man with an eyepatch and a wooden leg. At first Harry thought, quite naturally, that this must be a pirate costume, but there seemed to be a chunk of flesh missing from the man’s nose, and the leg was very realistic, and how would you fake a missing leg, anyway?

“Mr. Potter,” the handsome younger man said gravely, walking right up to Harry’s cupboard door. (Aunt Petunia had dragged Vernon to the hall carpet and was desperately trying to untie him; the younger man casually waved his hand and the ropes fell away, leaving his uncle gasping.) “It’s an honour to meet you at last.”

“Quiet, Shacklebolt,” the older man snapped. “You’ll be wanting his autograph next. We’re here to investigate the unauthorised use of an Incarcerous charm, in the presence of Muggles – great Merlin’s ghost, what in blazes is going on here?”

 _He even curses like a pirate_ , Harry thought.

“Is this – tell me this isn’t where _Harry Potter_ sleeps,” the older man said. He craned his neck to read a crayoned sign on the wall. “‘Harry’s Room.’ Oh, sweet Circe’s bumcrack.”

“Moody,” Shacklebolt hissed. “Children present.”

“How did you cast it?” Moody demanded, swinging abruptly towards Harry. “It must have been accidental – you don’t even have a wand. But accidental magic doesn’t register with the Ministry …”

“Mimi did it, sir,” Harry said. He didn’t know why – perhaps it was the obvious outrage Moody felt on seeing his cupboard, and the way both men clearly knew him by name – but he felt as though he’d better be honest. “She’s my best friend. She didn’t mean to break any rules.”

Both men stiffened. “There’s a witch in the house?” Shacklebolt said.

“No, sir,” Harry said, confused. “She’s not a witch, she’s just Mimikyu.”

Mimi crept out from behind his back. Her blanket bobbed in a timid curtsey, and her painted mouth smiled.

Shacklebolt swore under his breath. “It’s a magical creature,” he said. “Moody, you ever seen anything like it?”

“No-one knows what a boggart looks like, when it’s at home,” was the older wizard’s cryptic reply. “Well, Mimi, were you trying to protect young Harry, here?”

“If you look her in the eyes, she can talk to you,” Harry offered.

Moody squinted suspiciously. “Shacklebolt, attempt communication via Legilimency. I’ll cover you.”

He drew out a wand, and Harry’s eyes widened.

“You’re witches?”

“Wizards, son,” Moody said. “So’re you. Knew your parents, I did, and they were two of the best –”

“I forbid you to say another word!”

They’d all forgotten Aunt Petunia. She stood, eyes glittering with rage, and pointed at Moody with one long, bony finger.

“You take that freakish talk out of my house, and the boy with you for good measure!”

“Ma’am,” Shacklebolt said in a calm, rolling voice, “I know this has been a stressful evening, but surely you can see it’s not Harry’s –”

“I never wanted him in the first place,” Petunia said viciously. “My dear sister certainly never would have left him with us. We didn’t even get the will, just the boy – dumped on our doorstep like a basket of kittens. Take him and tell Dumbledore we’re moving house, no forwarding address. I’ll not risk anything like this happening again.”

The odd name seemed to alarm both men. “What does Dumbledore have to do with anything?” Moody demanded. “The Ministry determines child placement and foster care, not the Wizengamot and sure as hell not the Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“This is the first I’ve ever heard of your _Ministry_ ,” Petunia spat. “The boy came to us with a letter from Albus Dumbledore, saying we had to take care of Harry or else we’d be hunted down by insane dark wizards, Death Greeters or Death Cheaters or whatever silly name they call themselves.” (Dudley looked simultaneously thrilled and terrified.)

“That can’t be right,” Shacklebolt said.

The adults kept talking as Harry, ignored for the moment, gathered his things together. They made a very small pile: a few broken toys that Dudley hadn’t missed, his favourite crayon drawings, a piece of schoolwork that his first-grade teacher had marked “Terrific Work, Harry!” with a smiley-face sticker that Mimikyu loved, and of course Mimi and her blanket. He held her on his lap, something she allowed only when he was feeling very anxious or frightened, and they waited to see what would happen next.

He didn’t just feel scared and overwhelmed. As he hugged Mimi, and she patted his wrist gently, Harry felt a bright tendril of hope. He might leave Privet Drive. Today, six years after his parents’ death, he might actually be rescued. He felt, for a moment, as though he could almost hear them, as though a thick veil had parted briefly to allow their voices through.

“Stay strong, Harry,” his father whispered.

“We love you so much, my darling,” his mother told him. “Only hold on a little longer.”

***

He was on his way to the Ministry for Magic.

Aunt Petunia had been adamant: Harry must go. Shacklebolt and Moody had put up only a short fight, Moody distracting his aunt and uncle with loud, arm-waving expletives so that Shacklebolt could take a few surreptitious photos of his cupboard. Harry didn’t mind, although he was a little embarrassed by his mattress. The sheets didn’t fit right and a few stains were always visible. Even though he was seven years old, he still wet the bed sometimes. Since he was allowed a single bathroom break before getting locked in every night, Harry felt strongly that this wasn’t his fault.

They passed trick-or-treaters in the street, dressed in fantastic costumes, and Harry couldn’t stop grinning. He’d never been out on Halloween before, although Dudley had shown off pictures of himself with his friends, all dressed up. And of course he’d seen the tremendous hauls of candy, dumped out and lovingly sorted before disappearing into Dudley’s room, never to be seen again.

“Arrr, matey!” a small girl yelled at Moody, and the wizard flipped up his eyepatch in response. Beneath it, a wild blue eye rolled and spun. The girl screamed and ran, orange witch-heels tapping down the pavement, and Moody guffawed.

They had to go through a turnstile to get into the Ministry, and a little machine spat out badges as they entered. Shacklebolt (whose first name was “Kingsley”) read his badge aloud, at Harry’s request: “Harry Potter – Emancipation.”

Once there, the Aurors (as Shacklebolt described himself and Moody) were at something of a loss. Minister Bagnold wasn’t in – not surprising, as it was now well past eight o’clock – and failed to respond to her Floo (whatever that meant). Shacklebolt sent her a letter by barn owl, allowing Harry and Mimi to see him write it out with a quill pen before tying it onto the patient bird’s leg, and they all waited in his office for awhile before giving up for the night.

“You can come home with me, if you like,” Shacklebolt said. “I live with my sister, Reina. She just graduated Hogwarts last year and went right into Healer training. She keeps late hours, but I know she’d be pleased to meet you.”

Harry nodded, unable to keep himself from yawning. Mimi, too, seemed quite tired, her little dress drooping against his arm.

“I can keep Mimi with me, right?”

“Of course,” Shacklebolt said firmly. “I wouldn’t separate you from your friend.”

She let out a little purr, and Moody jumped. At his nudge, they moved slightly back from the boy and his familiar.

“Good wards on your house?” the old Auror asked his partner, frowning thoughtfully at a half-asleep Harry.

“The very best,” Kingsley replied smartly. “My father’s business is custom-made wards, and his father’s father, and so on down the bloody pureblood line. Hence the name ‘Shacklebolt.’ You-Know-Who himself couldn’t break ’em.”

Moody grunted. “Just remember: constant vigilance. It’s not out yet that we’ve got Harry Potter, but it will be. Likely a tracking charm on the boy that's outside Ministry regulation, if I know Albus.”

“If Dumbledore put protective charms on him,” Shacklebolt muttered, “I have to wonder, why didn’t they go off when his relatives shoved him in a cupboard for six years?”

“That’s a damned good question,” Moody said. “I’ll be sure to ask him myself.”

***

Harry slept on the long cab ride to Shacklebolt’s house. When they finally reached it (the driver’s startled “Thank you very much!” awoke him), he stumbled up the walk to a detached brick two-story.

“We’re in a Wizarding section of Kent,” Kingsley told him. “It’s an easy floo to St. Mungo’s for Reina’s work. My parents live just up the street - we’ll stop by soon, you’ll enjoy the garden.”

There was a neat little guest room, all made up with blue striped sheets. Kingsley (who had invited Harry to call him by his first name) set out a wicker basket with a pink silk pillow for Mimi, who settled in without even opening her eyes.

“I’ve got a Quidditch tee that would do for pyjamas, if you don’t have any,” he told Harry. “Bathroom’s through there, and I’ll set out a spare toothbrush. Let me know if you need anything – my room’s right next door, and Reina’s down the hall.”

He disappeared before Harry could stammer, embarrassed, that he’d never slept in a bed and wasn’t quite sure what to do. When Kingsley returned with the T-shirt, he found his young charge asleep on the floor by Mimi’s basket.

“Poor kid,” he murmured. “All right, up you get.”

He lifted Harry in both arms, noting clinically that he was clearly underweight, and put him to bed. He opted to leave the T-shirt on the pillow next to him, rather than attempting to undress and redress a traumatized child he’d just met, and turned out the light with a wave to Mimi. She lifted her head and waved a claw back at him. He closed the door with an absurd feeling of gratitude: that the Boy Who Lived was safe, tucked away behind some of the best wards in the wizarding world, with a vigilant friend at his side.


	2. Yummy Sushi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets several people who wish him well, including his adoptive parents. The Minister, Kingsley, and Mad-Eye are given the chance to right a wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and especially for your kind comments, kudos, and bookmarks!

Harry was somewhat confused. He’d opened his eyes to sunlight, and Mimi wasn’t right by his side for some reason, and he felt wonderfully, thoroughly rested.

Then he realized he was in a bed, and all his happy feelings drained away. He wasn’t allowed to be in a bed – beds were for little boys like Dudley, not for freaks, and if Uncle Vernon found out he’d left his cupboard and breakfast wasn’t on the table …

Mimi made a concerned snuffling noise, and Harry exhaled. He remembered where he was.

“Kings,” came an exasperated female voice from the hallway. “Where in Merlin’s name did you hide the clean laundry? All my scrubs are in there!”

A tousled head peeked around his door. “Oh!” said Reina Shacklebolt. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn't realise we had company. Have you seen Kingsley?”

Harry took a moment to find his glasses (someone had set them thoughtfully on the nightstand), and when he put them on, Reina transformed from a friendly blur into a sharp-eyed young woman with curly hair. She was wearing flannel in a very bright print.

“They’re my Yummy Sushi pyjamas,” she told him cheerfully. “You ever had sushi?”

Harry shook his head.

“Too bad. Indian’s my favorite, can’t beat a good curry, but I had sushi out in California and it changed my life. Now, who are you?”

“I’m Harry,” he said. “Harry Potter.”

She laughed. “Pull the other one! Well, you don’t have to tell me. I know my brother’s always looking out for kids who need a bit of help. Biggest pushover in the Auror Corps. If you see him, tell him –”

“The laundry’s folded and put away, Reina,” Kingsley rumbled from the hallway. “Did you even look in your closet?”

“You must have been busy last night,” she said snappily. “How much sleep did you get? Don’t you have work? Most people do work on Tuesdays. Even at the Ministry.”

“Quiet, witch,” Kingsley said, sounding both annoyed and very fond. “Now, Harry, what do you like for breakfast?”

Reina’s jaw dropped. “Harry?! He told me – he really is Harry Potter?”

She took two quick strides into the room, and Mimi rose with an ominous hiss.

“Reina, stop there,” Kingsley said calmly.

“Mimi, it’s okay,” Harry muttered, trying not to alarm her. “She’s a friend. She doesn’t want to hurt me.”

“Of course I don’t want to hurt you,” Reina said. She sounded odd, almost as if she were about to cry, and Harry squirmed with discomfort. “You’re a hero. You’re the Saviour of the Wizarding World, and my family owes you just as much as everyone else. Kingsley, what is Harry Potter doing in our spare room?”

“That’s his business,” he said, and Harry gave him a grateful look. “His familiar there is Mimikyu, known as Mimi. She’s … similar to a boggart, Rein. Don’t mess with her, and step light around Harry until she’s used to you, yeah?”

“All right,” she agreed, taking a step back. “It’s okay, girl. Sorry I startled you. Kings, has she met Beau, or should I put up the gate? Oh, speak of the devil.”

An enormous tuft-eared cat slunk into the room. His green eyes were alight with malice, and he stopped to claw at Reina’s ankle before making a dash for the pink silk pillow.

Mimi, who had been hovering a few feet in the air, came down on his head.

The yellow cat (if it was a cat – Harry had never seen one so big) yowled and spat. Mimi threw off her dress and turned into a large black dog with glimmering eyes.

“Suffering Salazar, the creature’s a Grim!”

“I told you, Rein, she’s like a boggart,” Kingsley said. He was still using his calm voice. “She won’t harm our Beau, I don’t think, and it might do him good to be put in his place.”

The black dog lifted its upper lip and growled. Beau scrambled off the pink silk pillow, tail bristling like a toilet brush, and clawed his way up the sheets. Harry shrank back, and Mimi lunged, but her opponent had lost all interest in the fight. He hid underneath the duvet, still swearing and spitting, and Harry laughed.

At the sound, Mimi stopped and turned back to the smoke. She slipped underneath her dress and settled back on her pillow, triumphant as a dragon on its hoard.

Reina and Kingsley laughed, too, especially when Beau peered out, saw Mimi, and promptly wriggled back into hiding.

“Well, see, it did do him some good,” Kingsley said, chuckling. “He’s gotten too used to owning the place. I may bring my dragonhide boots in here for safekeeping.”

“That was only once,” Reina protested. “And you’d just hurt his feelings.”

“The little menace sicked up in them,” Kingsley explained to Harry. “Fifty-Galleon boots, and I had to have them professionally cleaned. Moody raked me over the coals for non-regulation footwear and I was on desk duty for a week.”

“I’m sure Mimi wouldn’t mind looking after them,” Harry said. “She’s a good guardian.”

“She is that,” Kingsley agreed. “Now, sorry as I am to admit it, my sister is right. I do have work today, although Moody gave me the morning off. I’m to report to the Minister herself with you in tow, Mr. Potter. If you need to use the shower, now’s the time.”

Harry did so, completing his ablutions in less than five minutes. Hot water costs money, and when he was younger, Aunt Petunia would set an alarm and drag him out if he took too long. Kingsley looked a bit taken aback when Harry reappeared, clean and dressed, before he’d even stopped bickering with Reina over whose job it was to rescue Beau from the depths of the guestroom sheets.

“Well, that certainly was quick,” Reina said, glancing at her brother. “He’ll need an appointment with a Healer, too. Nutrient potions will do him a world of good.”

This went over Harry’s head, but he didn’t mind the sound of a Healer. Reina was one, after all, and it was hard to feel frightened of someone dressed in Yummy Sushi.

A few minutes later, he heard her call “See you, Harry! St. Mungo's!” followed by a mysterious “whoosh” from somewhere downstairs. Kingsley left to don his uniform while Harry talked to Mimi, stroking her head just above the lightning emblem and reassuring her that he would come back from the Ministry as soon as he could.

“I can’t take you with me because I don’t want you getting hurt,” he told her. “People might be scared of you.”

She puffed up, leaking wisps of black smoke.

“I know, I know,” he said, smiling. “You’re very scary. But sometimes people hurt things they’re afraid of – like snakes or spiders. I would be so upset if someone tried to hurt you.”

_I would destroy them all, if someone tried to hurt you._

“Not all,” Harry objected. “Kingsley and Reina are nice. And I think Moody could be nice, too. He wanted to protect me and get us away from the Dursleys.”

 _They think you need help. I should have scared your aunt and uncle and flown you away before the wizards found you._ She nudged his hand apologetically. _I didn’t know._

“We didn’t have anywhere to go,” Harry said. “But now we do. We can stay with Kingsley for awhile, and maybe – maybe I have a cousin, or a great-aunt, or some relative the Dursleys never told me about. Even though I’m not a wizard –”

Mimi huffed. _Of course you’re a wizard, Harry. If you weren’t, you’d get sick every time you saw me. Maybe even die. We couldn’t be friends if you didn’t have magic. I thought you knew._

Harry felt as though Dudley had pushed him down, knocking all the air from his lungs. “I’m … a wizard?”

“Yes, of course,” Kingsley said, coming back into the room. “You don’t mean those awful Muggles never told you? Of course they never told you. If I weren’t sworn to uphold the law ...”

He said no more, but turned to lead Harry downstairs to the Floo. Harry was fascinated by the idea, and was very careful to pronounce “The Ministry for Magic!” correctly before stepping into the flames. The spinning sensation made him think of amusement-park rides, like the Disneyland teacups he’d seen on the telly.

Kingsley followed a moment after, and they emerged from gigantic fireplaces lined up along a shining corridor. It wasn’t crowded at that time of day, and they made it up to Millicent Bagnold’s office unremarked by any witch or wizard. At Kingsley’s request, Harry wore his fringe over his scar.

The Minister’s blunt-cut hair was steel grey. Harry observed that her brown eyes were narrow and shrewd, but her face was not unkind. She and Kingsley went through polite motions before she urged them both to sit down and have tea (with chocolate digestives for Harry, which he appreciated – he’d skipped breakfast by mistake).

“Well, well, Mr. Potter,” she said. “Quite an honour to meet you at last. Dumbledore was most secretive about your whereabouts. If I hadn’t been assured that you were behind blood wards, I would never have let his decision stand. It seems I owe you a most profound apology.”

Harry looked to Kingsley, not knowing what to say. He was saved by the door, which opened after a cursory knock to admit Auror Moody.

“Alastor,” the Minister said politely. “Thank you for joining us. Why don’t you give Kingsley a rundown of my debriefing from earlier?”

Moody summed up the information he’d provided, adding many colourful terms that Harry resolved to look up later. His description of Uncle Vernon as “a stuffed cloakbag of guts” had even the Minister stifling a laugh.

“Harry learned only this morning that he’s a wizard,” Kingsley said, at the end of Moody’s recitation. He said it so matter-of-factly that Harry had no time to feel foolish. “He has no knowledge of his parents, and was told by his aunt and uncle that they were killed in a drunken car crash.”

Bagnold gasped. Moody’s face turned purple, and even his eye stopped dead.

“It’s blasphemy,” he growled. “James and Lily Potter, die in a Muggle car crash! James, whom I personally saw transfigure Death Eaters’ shoes into crocodiles! Lily, who brewed battle potions that saved dozens of lives!”

Harry reveled in these descriptions of his parents. He didn’t understand some of the words, but it was clear Moody thought they were heroes.

“Kingsley,” Bagnold said. “We’re here to discuss custody arrangements, but may I count on you to brief Mr. Potter on his unique position in the Wizarding World?”

“You may count on me, ma’am,” he replied.

“Then I will say with certainty that Mr. Potter should stay out the week in your household. I took the liberty of accessing the Potters’ will at Gringotts this morning.”

Both Moody and Kingsley looked gobsmacked.

“I am the Minister, you know,” she said, grinning. “They could hardly refuse. The boy’s godfather, Sirius Black, was given custody. If he was unavailable or unwilling, Alice and Frank Longbottom were next choice.”

“Well, shite,” Moody said.

“Quite,” Bagnold replied. “We go to blood relatives. The nearest are members of the Black family line. Andromeda is the eldest living, outside of Azkaban, therefore she would have first claim.”

“And she has a daughter,” Kingsley said. “Nymphadora Tonks. She’s already at Hogwarts. I know Moody here’s got his eye on her for the Aurory.”

“Kid’s a Metamorphmagus,” Moody explained. “You know how often one of them comes along? Half-past never and nothing o’clock. Invaluable for undercover work, so long as they keep their balance.”

“Metaphorically speaking?”

Moody rolled his eyes, which looked very strange indeed. “I mean everything on this earth’s got a weakness, and Metamorphmagi can’t keep their center of gravity straight. All that physical change skews their inner ear. Handy to know if you’ve ever got to fight one.”

“Interesting,” Bagnold said. “Well, my oldest girl was in Hufflepuff along with Ted, so I have a bit of an inside line. I’ll see what can be done.”

***

Meanwhile, back at the castle …

… the Headmaster’s alarm for Privet Drive was going off.

Unfortunately, or rather luckily for Harry and Mimi, Albus Dumbledore was away until Friday. Fawkes had just come off a Burning Day and was being tended by Gerry, a young House Elf who was clever enough to fetch a pair of tiny earmuffs for the cringing chick, but not quite take-charge enough to realise that perhaps he should tell someone about the klaxon. The portraits would have gladly warned Dumbledore, had he been in St. Mungo’s or the Ministry instead of a Transfiguration conference in the Seychelles. Instead, those lucky enough to have multiple portraits had fled, while the unlucky remainder did their best to cope. This involved makeshift earplugs and the sharing of Firewhiskey from an Ever-Refilling flask stashed in a hidden compartment of former Headmaster Brian Gagwilde’s chess table. The flask rarely made an appearance, due to the stuffy disapproval of his regular chess partner. In life, former Headmaster Walter Aragon had been a notorious teetotaler and professional stick in the mud, but as the sun set on the alarm’s third full day of nonstop shrilling, even he joined in and had a nip.

When Dumbledore emerged from his Floo on Friday evening, handing his purple hat to Gerry and tossing a bundle of conference papers back into the fire, the alarm was still going.

His reaction, when he discovered from a hastily summoned Everard that Aurors had removed Harry Potter from his relatives’ care several days ago, is perhaps better imagined than described.

***

The adoption was expedited, with no loopholes. Kingsley, Moody, and especially Minister Bagnold made it so. Ted and Andromeda Tonks were given Floo access to the Shacklebolt residence for half an hour on Wednesday night to meet their soon-to-be adopted son, and although the brief visit went well, the strain on Harry was clear. Kingsley had informed the Tonkses that Harry came with a somewhat unusual familiar, but had suggested to Harry that he leave Mimi out of this first meeting. Thankfully, the boy had agreed.

When Ted (who, like his wife, was a Healer) pricked Harry’s finger for the blood drop needed to clear him with Gringotts’ inheritance wards, Harry looked like he might pass out. Kingsley and Reina were both increasingly worried about his health.

“It’s clear the Muggles were abusing him,” Bagnold said on Thursday afternoon. Kingsley had already shown her his snaps of the cupboard, as well as more recent photos, and in her rage she’d accidentally set her desk on fire. “Scrimgeour is working with his Muggle counterpart at NSY to bring them in on charges that will stick. We may need you to brief a Muggle officer so he or she can testify in your stead.”

“Anything that needs doing, ma’am. You can count on me.”

 She nodded briskly. “Andromeda signed the adoption papers last night – as you already know, Kingsley – and went out to Gringotts this morning. Anything to report on the boy’s condition?”

“The Tonkses have promised a full work-up at St. Mungo’s as soon as possible, results to be provided to the Ministry.” On Tuesday night, after Harry had once again fallen asleep on the floor, Kingsley had attempted to change his ratty old clothes for a Holyhead Harpies T-shirt soft enough to sleep in. When he’d seen the finger-shaped bruises on the boy’s upper arms – one set in dark purple, overlaying several more in yellow-green – he’d dispassionately photographed them for evidence before getting Harry into the Harpies shirt and into bed before going downstairs and swearing a blue streak.

His mother had Floo-called in the middle of his tirade, and he’d had some explaining to do. Harry’s case was confidential, naturally, but once she understood that he’d just seen the marks of chronic abuse on a seven-year-old boy, she’d joined in the cursing and insisted that he bring the poor mite over for a nourishing supper as soon as he felt up to visiting.

“Andromeda is most anxious to meet Harry properly,” Bagnold said. “Truthfully, I wish we had more time – the child’s head must be spinning – but I don’t trust that sneaky old man not to pop up and throw a spanner in the works.”

“Agreed,” Moody said shortly. “I know Dumbledore of old, and we served in the trenches together. But he’s a twisty old warlock, and for some reason he wanted the boy kept with those Muggles. Best to have the adoption signed and sealed before he even knows it’s done.”

“That’s exactly what we’ve got,” the Minister replied. “I approved the adoption on the Ministry end” – she tapped the papers on her desk blotter – “and Andromeda crossed the i’s and dotted the t’s at Gringotts. Magically speaking, the boy is Harry James Potter-Black. I’m pleased to say he’ll inherit accordingly.”

“Not ‘Tonks’?” Kingsley said, surprised.

“Gringotts forms rely on bloodline,” Moody said. “He’s no kin to the Tonkses, and just as well. ‘Harry Potter-Tonks’ sounds bloody stupid.”

He eyed the paperwork. “On the downside, Minister, young Harry’s being his heir might strengthen Sirius Black’s claim on him, should he ever be released. You may want to dig up his trial records, make damned sure he’s locked up for life.”

“Surely he would have been Kissed, Moody – he killed a wizard and blew up a street full of Muggles!”

“He wasn’t,” Kingsley said. “I saw him many times on my turnkey tour. He’s got his soul, all right, though he doesn’t say much.”

The Minister sat, her brow wrinkled. “I don’t recall attending Black’s trial,” she said slowly. “Do you, Alastor?”

He considered the question. “I was there for Karkaroff’s,” he said. “I saw the Lestranges and the eldest Black sister, nasty piece of work that she is, and I saw Crouch condemn his own son. But I didn’t see Sirius Black’s trial, no, nor his sentencing.” He frowned, so deep in thought that even his magical eye was still. “Our paths crossed more than once, during the war – why didn’t it stand out, that he never appeared before the Wizengamot?”

“You may have been enchanted not to notice,” Kingsley said. “Legilimency plus a modified Notice-Me-Not would do the trick.”

Moody swore. “Dumbledore,” he said, looking grimmer than usual. “But why would he want Black locked up?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the Minister said. She looked every one of her hundred and five years, but her eyes still sparked with fury. “Perhaps Albus Dumbledore had plans for the Boy-Who-Lived. Plans that didn’t include him living with his godfather, should that godfather be tried and found innocent.”

“We need to get those records,” Moody said. “The sooner the better. And if there wasn’t a trial, a Merlin-be-damned Veritaserum trial, we need to go and fetch Sirius Black.”


	3. Sirius Steps Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is officially adopted on short notice. Sirius is released from Azkaban to St. Mungo's, awaiting a Veritaserum interrogation. Remus is reunited with his sole surviving packmate. Meanwhile, in a brief interlude, Draco and Narcissa Malfoy are surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter. In the next installment, Harry and Mimikyu attend a garden party.

Bellatrix was insane, and Sirius knew this.

It still didn’t stop him from screaming at her to shut up every time she started singing.

_“A sad dog star … fell down and down … and sloooowly in the ocean drowned …”_

“I swear to all the gods that are or ever where,” Sirius yelled, hurting his throat. “If you start in on poetry, I will _burn the world_.”

“Promises, promises,” muttered Dolohov, two cells down. The neighbouring cell housed a disintegrated skeleton (formerly a man convicted of stealing a prize hen in the 1800s), and Sirius was lucky enough to have end-row accommodations across from a rarely used stairway. He had a single arrow-slit window and could sometimes see the moon. He’d marked the lunar cycle in his own blood on the stone walls, and he always knew when Moony was suffering – alone, in the wild, without Padfoot or Prongs or even …

“Oh-ho, it’s the po-po,” Bella said suddenly. “Seal your lips and throw away the needle.”

A heavy jingling sound moved down the hall. A moment later the Warden (a courtesy title, they were all called Warden) stopped in front of his cell.

“Here ’e is,” the Warden said. Like most Azkaban turnkeys, he was young and pallid with badly bloodshot eyes, a side effect of Dementor exposure. “Not much to look at, but not as mad as some I could name on this very row.”

“Sticks and stones will break your skull,” Bellatrix sang. “And then the snakes will crawl … in the mouth and out the nose, and grey-green jelly between your toes …”

“Did you understand the Minister’s orders?” the Auror asked, ignoring Bella. He was black and very tall (especially as Sirius was lying down on his filthy cot, looking up through the bars).

“I did,” the Warden said. He saw Sirius looking and sneered at him.

“Then open this cell at once, and clear the Dementors from our path,” the Auror said, less politely. “The man’s been here six years without trial.”

“Harry,” Sirius croaked. The only workout his voice ever got was screaming, either at Bella or near Dementors. “Harry’s … Harry’s safe?”

“He’s safe, Auror Black.” (Sirius registered, dimly surprised, that he had once been an Auror. Apparently his memories of Aurorhood had been happy.) “When you’ve been thoroughly checked over at Mungo’s, we’ll see if you can have a visit. See for yourself how he’s doing, all right?”

This had to be a dream, Sirius thought. He was likely flat on the cold stone floor, dying (which was fine, he would see James and Lily and they could both smack him upside the head as he well deserved), and the Auror was an angel without wings … hadn’t Lily forced them all, on Harry’s first Christmas, to sit down and watch a movie about angels? Wormtail had fallen asleep in his chair, and Moony’d downed three buckets of popcorn and been quietly sick in the downstairs loo…

“No one’s rung your bell, that’s all,” he told the Auror. “Are you my guardian angel?”

The man shook his head. “I’m just doing my job,” he said, rather kindly. “Unlike the Warden here, who will find himself swabbing out toilets if he doesn’t. Open. This. DOOR.”

Sirius was freed in a (rather sullen) jingle of keys, a long torchlit walk during which the Auror had to support his weight while breathing through his mouth, and a crescent moon that shone down like a smile.

In the boat, salt spray stippling his face and a wide stretch of dry land in sight, Sirius Black turned his nose to the wind and wept.

***

Andromeda Tonks was nervous.

She and Ted had signed the adoption papers, spurred on by the Minister, after a very brief visit with their adopted son. The fact that he was also the Boy-Who-Lived and, with his acceptance by blood at Gringotts, the newly named heir to the Black family fortune just made the situation even more surreal.

Ted, in his sweet and steady Hufflepuff manner, had made the way forward seem very clear.

“He needs a good family, ’Dromeda,” he’d said as they lay in bed Thursday night, her head pillowed on his shoulder. “We can be that for him. You and me and Dora – we can give him a better life. Not to mention, the Potter boy _is_ your family, and you need that connection, my love. You and Dora both.”

“Those Muggles were starving him, Ted.”

“He’s underweight, sure enough, and short for his age. They weren’t feeding him well, at best.”

“Who could treat a child so? Their own sister’s precious child? If Cissa died, I’d treat Draco as my own. She’d take in Nymphadora, if no one else would.” (Ted opted for a diplomatic silence.) “Blood isn’t everything, I of all people know that, but – it’s not as though it means nothing. If your own family rejects you … it’s especially cruel for a child, who can’t have done anything wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong, either,” her husband said, stroking her hair.

“But I made my own choice. I understood the consequences, fair or unfair. If I could get away with cursing those horrible Muggles, I’d do it and not lose a wink of sleep.”

Ted sucked in a startled breath.

“What is it?”

“I’ve just thought of something … who was heir to the Black fortune, before Harry?”

His wife considered. “It's entailed through the male line, of course … I believe it must have been Draco. Unless Sirius should have an heir, and that’s not likely, is it?”

(Sirius was, at that moment, being Apparated under direst secrecy to St. Mungo’s, where he promptly vomited on Trainee Healer Shacklebolt’s sensible shoes. Years later, he would confess: “It was love at first sight.”)

“So our Harry, defeater of You-Know-Who, has just supplanted your sister’s beloved Little Dragon for all the accumulated wealth and heirlooms of the oldest pureblood family in England.”

Andromeda’s laugh bubbled up. “Must you frame it like that?”

“Oh,” said her husband, squeezing her fondly. “I imagine the Malfoys will have their own view of the matter. To be a fly on that wall …”

(Meanwhile, in a manor house many miles away –)

“Mother, my ring’s gone,” Draco said. He was wearing tailored grey dress robes and looked both posh and quite silly. He’d recently begun to slick his hair back, revealing a pre-adolescent widow's peak.

“That’s nice, sweetheart,” Narcissa said absently. She was seated at her vanity, reading _Witch Weekly_ while her personal House Elf, Dilly, coiled and pinned her hair for supper with a potential Ministerial candidate. The man was a buffoon and a half-blood to boot (“Fudge” was a crass Muggle name), but he was very easily manipulated and Lucius was eager to regain his own family’s political influence. This meant lots of tedious company for his wife and lots of proudly showing off the house and grounds for himself.

“My Heir’s ring, Mummy,” Draco clarified. “The Black one with all the jewels, not the plain old Malfoy one. That one’s still there.”

Narcissa sat up straight, causing Dilly to squeak disapprovingly.

“Your ring can’t be gone, darling,” she said. “No one can touch it but the Black heir, and of course that’s you.”

“It’s gone,” her son said, a mulish look on his face. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I’ll floo Gringotts and see if it’s back in the vault,” Narcissa sighed.

Half an hour later, her hair was frizzing and she could feel her heart rate soar. “What do you mean, it’s gone to the new heir? My son is the heir!”

“The Black family lineage has been updated,” a goblin repeated. “Those wishing to view a complete accounting of the updated list of succession are advised to contact Gringotts in person between one and three p.m. on alternate Tuesdays. We are aware that you have absolutely no other banking options, and we thank you for choosing Gringotts.” He closed the connection on a vicious smile.

Narcissa’s response would have impressed her son and horrified her husband. As it was, Dilly made a note to double the dose of Calming Draught in her mistress’s cocoa at bedtime. (She was a very good elf.)

***

Sirius Black was demanding to see his godson, and Reina Shacklebolt informed him that Harry was safe in her family home.

He immediately attempted to escape his secure hospital room with the mad plan of Flooing to Shacklebolt Manor (wherever that might be) and snatching up Harry before fleeing into the night, possibly on dragons or, if available, golden gryphons, to live happily ever after on a tropical island.

He made it nearly to the door before vomiting again, this time into a bedpan.

“Is there anyone else you’d like me to contact?” Reina offered kindly.

“My cousin Andi,” Sirius said, rinsing his mouth out. “No, wait – Remus. Remus Lupin. He’ll help me – he’ll know what to do – always the cleverest, the best of us, but Peter was cleverer, wasn’t he, in the end, that –” He went off on a profane tangent, snarling about a rat with worms in its tail, or a worm for a tail, or something Reina couldn’t quite follow. “Remus will come. Moon’s waning, I saw it, he’s got no reason to stay away, once he knows the truth – he’s got to know the truth, and Harry, dear Merlin, what Harry must think of me –”

“I’ll see if I can locate Remus Lupin,” she said. “It’s almost time for your Teeth-Restoring Potion, and you’ll want to lie down for a bit after that. Healer Smethwyck will be here any moment.”

“Get Moony,” Black said, crawling obediently back to bed. “Moony will straighten out all this mess, you’ll see.”

***

Reina was unable to locate Remus Lupin in the Floo directory, so she sent one of the hospital’s owls. They were trained to deliver with the utmost urgency. Four hours later, Remus was rudely awakened from a sound sleep and soundly pecked for not having any food to offer before the long flight back to England.

It took ten minutes to pack everything he owned, including five minutes spent staring into space, the message from St. Mungo’s in his lap. The room was rented weekly, and the landlord was happy to accept his early departure (without a refund, of course – he’d made a special exception, after all, renting to a man no work history or identification, cash up front every Sunday).

When he arrived at St. Mungo’s, Remus was directed to a private room on the first floor. He was quite alarmed – had Sirius been hurt by another prisoner, a werewolf or other part-human? – until he realised, chagrined, that of course Dementor exposure would qualify as a creature-induced injury.

 _Dementor exposure._ Sirius had spent the past six years in Azkaban. He was almost certainly insane, at the very least incoherent, might not even recognise his sole surviving best friend –

“Moony,” came a familiar voice. It was hoarse and strained, as though he’d spent the whole night running and caught a chill. “Moony, it’s me. I’m –”

“Why?” Remus asked. The word just fell out, lying between them like a dead thing. “James and Lily, Sirius. How could you?”

“It wasn’t me!” Sirius barked. Remus hadn’t looked at him too closely – his face was swollen, likely from a potion, and his skin was scrubbed and oddly pink, likely from his first chance to wash since 1981 – but he looked now and saw Sirius’s grey eyes, mad with desperation to make him believe. (He’d seen that expression once before, when his best friend was trying to convince him that he hadn’t expected Severus Snape to actually listen to Sirius Black and wind up at the Shrieking Shack with a full-grown werewolf, who would certainly have been executed for turning or eating a fellow student, and that if Sirius had known, of course he wouldn’t have done it … which they both knew was, at best, a half-truth.)

“I never got a trial, Moony, that’s why I’m out! And as soon as I do, as soon as they put me under Veritaserum or ask for the memory, I’ll be able to prove it wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it, Sirius? You killed Peter. Whatever else I am, I would never have betrayed them. So who was it?”

“It was –” he roared, then stopped and glanced at the Trainee Healer. “Can you keep a secret, Shacklebolt?”

“Of course,” she answered promptly. “Secret away.”

Sirius barked, this time with laughter, and Remus lost his breath for an instant. He’d never thought to hear Sirius laugh again.

“It was Peter,” Sirius rasped. “We switched Secret Keepers at the last minute – I did the bonding myself, Dumbledore was so busy, busy keeping secrets, and we thought You-Know-Who might come after him, so we chose the weakest link because I thought no one would suspect – and he always seemed so loyal to James, but he was the spy all along, Remus, and he turned around and sold them to Voldemort!”

Reina dropped her clipboard. Remus flinched twice, once at the name and again at the clatter.

“So I went for him,” Sirius continued. His eyes were still a bit crazed, but his voice was calmer. “He blasted the street apart and then hit me with something – a Cheering Charm, I think, or a Cackling Curse – and left me laughing like a lunatic – sorry, like a madman – while he transformed and went into the sewers … they didn’t find a body, Remus, and if they’d tested my wand they’d know I was innocent, so I’d very much like to know who put me in Azkaban and left my godson with –”

He paused abruptly. “Who was he with?”

“Lily’s sister,” Remus said quietly.

“WHAT?!”


	4. Mimi's Fix-It Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mimi has a significant encounter at a garden party. Reina Shacklebolt comes bearing good news, and Andromeda Tonks lays the groundwork for Harry's future happiness. Severus Snape makes a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really enjoyed all of your responses to the story so far - thank you for reading and commenting. I hope you enjoy this eventful chapter, and the next is slated for the next few days. I will be out of the country for two weeks beginning May 12th, but will post several times before then!

Harry was having the most wonderful dream.

In the dream, he was living in a small white house with the Tonks family, Ted and Andromeda and his older sister, Dora. (He’d seen a photograph of her, a moving one that showed her laughing and cycling her hair colour from red to blue to purple, but she was at Hogwarts and they had yet to meet.) Mimi had her pink silk cushion, and they were all playing together in his very own room. There was a magical toy castle surrounded by knights on horses that really galloped and dragons that flew and breathed orange mist, and his sister’s hair was pink and then pale yellow with a blackberry zigzag …

“Lovely spot for a nap,” rumbled an amused voice. Harry opened his eyes and realised he’d fallen asleep, curled snugly around Mimi, in the drawing-room windowseat. 

“My mother just Flooed to remind me of our dinner engagement for your last night here,” Kingsley said lightly. “I thought we might walk over early. I think you’ll really love the gardens. Reina will be there after her shift ends, and I believe she has some good news.”

“Is she getting married?”

Kingsley laughed, but not at Harry. “No, although we’re something of an exception among the really old Pureblood families. We don’t insist on marriage and heirs right out of school. The good news is … well, something happened today, and honestly I’m not sure how much I’m meant to tell you, so I’ll leave it to her. The Minister’s asked me to Floo before we go, in case there’s any more news, so I’ll just do that now if you don’t mind getting ready yourself.”

Harry nodded eagerly. “Mimi’s excited to see a new place!”

After some deliberation, Kingsley felt it would be wise to bring Mimikyu along for two reasons. First, several of his mother’s many plant species were carnivorous, and Harry was still getting used to the magical world and its many, many perils. Second, his mother’s favourite hobby (besides gardening) was the study of magical creatures. Her best friend, a younger Pureblood named Pandora Lovegood, strongly encouraged her interest, and the two women spent many happy hours discussing strange and mythical creatures. Although Noor Shacklebolt insisted that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Fizzing Whizzhornets lived only in her friend’s imagination, Pandora had recently (and triumphantly) produced the well-documented discovery of an ethereally lovely Reverse Dementor. The wizard in question had all of his bad memories destroyed and was blissfully happy, right up to the moment that he encountered a real Dementor and, utterly unafraid, attempted to pet it. The encounter ended predictably.

“Would you mind if I used a Cleaning Charm on your dress, Mimi?” Kingsley asked politely. “I can leave your decoration in place, if you like.”

She agreed, and with a wave of Kingsley’s wand, Harry’s old blanket brightened to buttercup yellow.

“You look beautiful,” Harry said sincerely. “They’ll love you, Mimi.”

“My parents will be very pleased to meet you both. I know Mum’s invited her friend Pandora. Her husband is away, but her daughter Luna will be there, too. I think she’s about your age, Harry.”

“That’s great. I’d love to meet a friend!”

***

If Luna Lovegood was any indication, Harry was going to love having human friends.

She doted on Mimi, admired Harry’s lightning scar (which Kingsley seemed disturbed by, for reasons he hadn’t yet shared with Harry), and told funny stories about her father’s adventures as a journalist in faraway lands. Her parents obviously adored her, but Harry tried not to feel jealous. If he felt a pang when Pandora brushed her daughter’s fringe out of her eyes and lovingly kissed her forehead, it passed the moment Luna turned to him and offered to teach him a Wizarding game.

“So it’s kind of like tag, but more dangerous?”

“It’s meant to help your magic grow,” Luna explained. “If you’re in a little bit of danger, sometimes you’ll use magic without a wand. Once I made a fireball!”

“Oh! Kingsley told me about that. I turned my teacher’s wig blue.”

She tilted her head curiously. “What’s a wig?”

Harry explained as Pandora enchanted three rubber balls (mini-Bludgers, Luna called them) for their game. Kingsley had taught him the basics of magical ancestry after his adoption by the Tonks family. He told Harry that most Purebloods – including himself, until Auror training – were shockingly uninformed about the much larger Muggle world. Harry’s own father had been a Pureblood, Kingsley told him, and so was his best friend, Andromeda Tonks’ cousin Sirius. (To Harry’s slight disappointment, he said nothing more about Sirius.) Harry wondered whether his mother had also experienced Pureblood ignorance. 

“Have fun, you two,” Pandora said. “Remember, stay well back from the Chompers in the garden – they only eat dead flesh, but I don’t want you nibbled on.”

“We’ll be careful,” Harry and Luna chorused, and then they were off. Pandora counted ten and released the mini-Bludgers.

The two children raced through the garden, both shrieking with laughter. Harry was very pleased to find that he was naturally good at the game – running and dodging came easily to him after years spent evading Dudley. Luna was quite fast as well, moonlight hair streaming as she tore across the grass with two mini-Bludgers in hot pursuit. 

The first sparks of accidental magic came when Luna tripped on an exposed root and sprawled flat on her belly. She rolled herself over, gasping for air and flinging up her hands to block the mini-Bludgers hurtling toward her face.

As Harry watched, still evading the third Bludger, a tiny flower uprooted itself and burst into a curved pink-and-green shield. Both Bludgers hit it with a resounding clang and were sent careening – straight into Harry.

He was caught totally off-balance. One Bludger smashed into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him, and the other struck him in the face. Stars exploded in his head and he fell to the ground, clutching at his scar.

“Harry!”

He wasn’t sure if it was Luna or her mother calling in that panicked voice, but he knew the whirring sound was Mimikyu. He opened his eyes (closing the right one again as blood ran into it, stinging like crazy) and saw Mimi advancing on Pandora, who had just run past Luna to reach him.

“Mimi, no!” he tried to scream, but no sound came out.

He’d made her promise never to show her true form unless it was life-or-death. She kept that promise, but Harry could see that she was changing into something, something that would terrify the woman who’d sent dangerous missiles after her best friend …

Suddenly two Pandoras stood on the lawn. Noor and Kingsley had rushed up, too, and Luna was standing behind her mother, whose arms were outstretched to protect her.

The second Pandora, Mimikyu’s form, was doing something with slim glass vials. She lifted and poured a bright green liquid back and forth, one to the other, and then – 

Harry covered his ears just in time. The vials exploded, leaving a scorched circle in the grass. What was left of Mimi, of the fake Pandora, was so gruesome that Noor shielded Luna’s eyes and Pandora herself looked sick.

“Mimi,” Harry croaked. “Mimi, that’s enough, I’m fine. She didn’t mean to hurt me. Get back in your dress.”

Mimi obeyed, swirling back into a black mist beneath her dress. She floated to Harry’s side and set her cool claws on his forehead. When she tapped them, very gently, his scar burned for an instant and then felt better.

“What in Merlin’s name was that?” Kingsley asked, sounding badly shaken. Harry’s heart sank.

“I don’t know,” Pandora cried. “You didn’t say she was a Boggart, if I’d known I would never have allowed Luna –”

“I’m not talking about Mimikyu,” Kingsley said, cutting her off. “She thought Harry was in danger, of course she reacted. Pandora, why in the seven hells did Mimi take the form of you handling weaponized Bubotuber pus?”

“Is that what it was? No wonder it exploded.” Noor relaxed her hold on Luna, who immediately looked to Harry.

“Are you okay?” his new friend said, and Harry was so relieved at the concern in her blue eyes that he almost laughed.

“My head hurts,” he said. “What’s Bubotuber pus? It sounds really gross.”

“It is gross,” Kingsley said, but his face remained stern. “The DMLE tried to develop it for combat, and the trials went badly – one researcher lost his arm, they couldn’t even grow it back. Why would Mimi see that in your mind?”

“I don’t know,” said Luna’s mother, sounding truly distressed. “I experiment with Charms and Potions at home – nothing dangerous, just minor modifications, and I rarely dabble in Herbology. My hair was different, too.”

“What do you mean, dear?” Noor asked.

“I mean the Bog – the other me had a different hairstyle. I looked a bit older, too. Does your familiar show the future, Harry?”

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Lovegood. She never has before.”

“Mummy,” Luna said quietly. “Mummy, what’s your greatest fear?”

“Losing you,” Pandora said instantly, and blinked.

“Mummy, please – I want Kingsley to look at your lab and see if it’s safe. Daddy worries, too, but he’s not at home. Please, Mummy.”

Harry looked at Mimi’s eyes. _Did you show Luna her greatest fear?_

_ She hit you with those projectiles _ , Mimi said. _You had blood all over your face and I panicked. I’m sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have hurt your new friend._ She ducked her head, and he touched the lightning-bolt emblem reassuringly.

“Of course Kingsley will stop by tomorrow night,” Noor said, brooking no disagreement. “I’ll send Rex, too, and if there are any safety concerns, he can set up a personalized ward for you and Luna – and dear Xenophilius, of course, once he’s back from Malaysia.”

“Thank you,” Luna whispered. She turned back to Harry and Mimi. “Thank you, Mimikyu.”

_ Tell her I’m sorry … and that she’s very welcome. _

The garden gate creaked, and Reina made her way up the path. She stopped dead as everyone turned.

“Oooo-kay,” she said slowly. “What’d I miss?”

***

Andromeda was frantic. Harry would arrive first thing Monday morning, and it was now Sunday night and she had yet to finish decorating his room. Ted had painted and she’d already charmed the carpet, but now he was on a twelve-hour shift and she had to figure out which of Nymphadora’s old toys were too babyish and which might be dangerous, and would Harry like the ceiling enchanted with twinkling stars or maybe he would prefer to sleep in a dark room, and what if he felt homesick or frightened …

The Floo whooshed and her daughter stepped through, grinning widely.

“Nymphadora!”

“Mother, please,” she groaned. “Everyone else calls me Tonks.”

Andromeda hugged her, pleased at her daughter’s enthusiastic squeeze. “Why are you home? Is everything all right?”

“Special circs. Professor Dumbledore said I could be here for Harry’s first day – I got to use the Floo in his office! I have to go back Tuesday morning. Oh,” she said casually, “he wants to stop by whenever it’s convenient, soon as Harry’s settled in.”

Andromeda stiffened. “Albus Dumbledore may invite himself to our home, but I needn’t accept. He placed Harry with those horrible Muggles – it’s far too late to take a personal interest now.”

“Just passing on the message, Mum,” Nymphadora said, edging toward the kitchen. “I’m starving. Defence on Friday was brutal, three Ravenclaws sent down to Pomfrey and thirty points off Slytherin …”

“Dora,” Andromeda said, compromising on the name. “Would you help me with Harry’s room? I don’t know what toys a seven-year-old boy might like.”

“Of course I’ll help!” She beamed her lovely smile. “We can sort them and then just let Harry decide.”

Andromeda took a deep breath and smiled back. Marrying Ted had been the best decision of her life, and Nymphadora was the proof.

The Floo whooshed again as her daughter disappeared in search of food.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Tonks,” Reina Shacklebolt said. “I have some good news, I think. Amelia Bones interrogated Sirius Black this afternoon, and the DMLE is dropping all charges against him.”

“Is he suing for false imprisonment?”

“Oh yes,” Reina said frankly. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I would.” No one in the Black family forgave easily. “What does this mean for Harry? Is Sirius contesting the adoption?”

“No, ma’am, not that he’s told me. ‘Andi always was a good ’un,’ he says. ‘Better for Harry to have a real family.’ But he would like to request, respectfully, permission to visit as soon as he’s cleared to leave St. Mungo’s.”

“Of course,” Andromeda said, relieved. “I would love to see Sirius again.”

“He’ll be pleased to hear that,” Reina said. “I hope – that is, my brother and I hope very much that we might also be allowed to drop in sometimes. We’ve gotten used to having Harry around, him and Mimi both. Oh, you haven’t met her yet, have you?”

Andromeda shook her head. “I know she’s important to Harry.”

“That’s an understatement.” Reina glanced behind her, flickering in the green flames. “I can’t talk now, but I would recommend against trying to separate them. Mimi can be very protective. You know she’s some unknown species of boggart, right?”

“No, I had no idea.” 

The younger woman spoke quickly: “She’s more powerful, and Kingsley said he doesn’t think _Riddikulus_ would have any effect. She can’t be made to change her form, he says. Her voice is a little … disconcerting, but she usually talks to Harry directly through a form of Legilimency. The important thing is that she’ll protect him at any cost, so if you’re out in public together, be sure to bring her along.”

“Won’t that draw attention?” Andromeda disliked going out. Either she was sneered at for being the disowned Black sister, or she was threatened (and once badly cursed) by people mistaking her for Bellatrix. 

“I would suggest disguising yourselves when you leave the house, Mimi included, at least for now. With Sirius cleared, it’s only a matter of time before some reporter checks up on the Boy Who Lived and finds the adoption record. I don’t know anything about the Black line of succession or whether Sirius’s parents disowned him before they died, but if not, the Malfoys are in for a surprise.”

Andromeda couldn’t help smirking. “Yes, how terrible for them.”

“Mimi has a little bed here, and we’ll send her favorite pillow along with Harry tomorrow.” The younger woman paused, biting her lip. “We’ll really miss them. He’s an awfully nice kid, and Mimi has a ton of personality. Our bratty Kneazle may never be the same.”

“Has someone told him about Sirius?”

“I talked to Harry about his godfather this evening,” Reina replied, sounding slightly annoyed. “What he’d been accused of, how he’d been wrongfully imprisoned. That’s when I learned that Harry knew nothing about You-Know-Who, how he got his scar, or what happened to his parents. I’ll be having words with my dear brother over that. Harry asked to go home after we talked and he’s up in our guestroom with Mimi now. He may be a little out of sorts tomorrow, and I can hardly blame him. I do apologize, Mrs. Tonks, but I had no idea we’d be getting into all that when I told him the good news about Sirius.”

“It’s a lot for a seven-year-old to understand,” Andromeda said. “I’m sure you explained things perfectly well, and I admit I’m relieved to have some of that burden taken off Ted and myself. I’ll keep an eye on Harry tomorrow, and so will Nymphadora.”

Reina brightened. “Nymphadora’s home! She’ll be a good influence. Make sure she doesn’t scare Mimikyu, though.”

“Oh, you know her,” Andromeda said, surprised. “Were you in Hufflepuff?”

“Ravenclaw, like my brother,” Reina said proudly. “But everyone knows Tonks. I remember when she was sorted – first Metamorphmagus in a century! Hufflepuff cheered so loud Snape docked twenty points. Sprout gave them right back, of course, and next morning his tea was full of duckweed. I still treasure the look on his face.”

“I forgot about Severus Snape,” Andromeda murmured, stricken. “That ... may be a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Thank you for calling, Trainee Shacklebolt, and I hope that you and Auror Shacklebolt will both visit us later this week to see how Harry’s settling in.” She felt a rush of gratitude. “Thank you for saving him. Please tell your brother as well – thank you.” 

***

Severus Snape was drunk.

It was a Monday evening, he’d taught three sections of Potions with many tears but nary a single dismemberment, and he was a 27-year-old wizard. He could drink if he wanted, and if he chose to drink to excess in his own private quarters, who was to stop him?

That morning’s _Daily Prophet_ lay strewn by the fireplace. A bootprint had marked and torn the headline BLACK FREED, PETTIGREW BLAMED IN POTTER SLAUGHTER. 

If Sirius Black was innocent then he, Severus Snape, was a closet Veela.

His Floo chimed, letting him know that someone was attempting to access it. That someone was likely the Headmaster, an expert in descending when and where he was least wanted.

This drunken conjecture proved correct. Albus graciously gave him a minute (“just to pull yourself together”) before he was expected in the Headmaster’s office. Severus downed a Sobering Potion, suffered through its unpleasant purgative effects, and then obeyed his master’s command.

“Andromeda Tonks was just here,” Albus said without preamble. “She sought my reassurance that you will pose no threat to her cousin and especially not to her young charge.” 

His stock of S obering Potion was apparently out-of-date. “What ‘young charge’ is this, Dumbledore?”

“Harry Potter was removed from his relatives’ home and placed with a Wizarding family,” the Headmaster said. He sounded blandly disinterested, and Severus knew instantly he’d not been alerted until it was too late to interfere. “That family, I’m relieved to say, is Ted and Andromeda Tonks, and of course their daughter, Nymphadora.”

Severus reflexively twitched. The young Tonks was responsible for more near-catastrophes than any other third-year. She was very attentive and grasped theory quite well, but her clumsiness often led to spills and minor explosions.

“I’ve been offered a compromise: monthly visits to check up on Harry’s well-being, which I think you’ll agree is worthwhile, in exchange for –”

“My job,” Severus said hollowly. He hated teaching, most days, or more accurately hated teaching young students who held no appreciation for an extremely delicate art, but being forced to resign would spell his death. If not now, then certainly after the Dark Lord returned, which both he and Dumbledore knew was bound to happen.

“Not at all,” Dumbledore said, sounding surprised. “Mrs. Tonks understands the importance of your position, my dear Severus. No, she wants you to accept restitution on behalf of the Black family, and she wants your solemn vow to treat Harry like any other student when he arrives at Hogwarts. To that end, she wishes to foster a positive relationship by hiring you as a private tutor in Potions and Defence for both Harry and Nymphadora during the summer months. If all are satisfied, this arrangement will be renewed each July for the next four years, with generous compensation and bonuses as indicated by your students’ progress.”

“Spend my holidays teaching the spawn of James Potter! She can take her restitution and –”

“The restitution is a separate issue,” Dumbledore said, cutting him off. “You may accept the tutoring contract, or else decline. Either way, you will receive a rather generous number of Galleons. And she’s not offering it, Severus – Sirius insisted.”

Severus knew that blasted potion had expired. He tried to rekindle his rage, now swamped by confusion. “How very … noble of him. A rich idiot’s bribe for good behaviour.”

“He doesn’t remember hating you,” Albus said bluntly. “The Dementors took most of his memories, and he is unable to gain them back.”

“His _happy_ memories,” the Potions Master spat.

“He’s ashamed, Andromeda told me. Ashamed that bullying a classmate, often four against one, was apparently a source of fond recollection … the only one he has retained, she informs me, is the incident with Remus Lupin.”

“He should have been expelled,” Severus said, knowing he might as well have screamed it against the wind. “He tried to murder me in cold blood and you gave him detention.”

“He never thought you would reach the Shrieking Shack,” Dumbledore countered. “He says now that he believed you would run to me, informing me of the secret tunnel and seeking to have his friend expelled, and of course I knew Remus’s situation already. You’d have looked foolish and petty, and I likely would have ordered you to silence.” He paused before adding, fairly: “And, of course, they would have tormented you with even greater impunity.”

“Reveled in my powerlessness,” Severus muttered. “Potter was a bloody sadist. Is the son?”

“Decidedly not.” For an instant, the Headmaster looked his age. “More sinned against than sinning.”

“Petunia,” he said, and Albus nodded. 

“When Sirius realised you’d gone, he told James because James was the better flier, more likely to reach you in time. And he was right to do so, Severus – just as I was wrong, in my failure to issue more appropriate punishment. I must once again beg your forgiveness.”

Severus closed his eyes. “May I go now, Headmaster?”

“Not yet. I took the liberty of writing out Sirius’s offer. Acceptance means treating Harry as any other student, nothing more – but I hope you’ll consider the spirit in which it is given.” He slid a sheet of parchment over to Severus, who took it with numb fingers.

Just below a figure that would triple the number of Galleons in Severus’s vault, Dumbledore had written: “Letter from Lily Evans Potter, addressed to Severus Snape, 10 October 1981.”

With an effort of will, Severus kept his face blank. The parchment shook slightly.

“What are Andromeda’s terms for the summer arrangement?”

Dumbledore was wise enough not to smile.


	5. Two Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius visit the Tonks household. Sirius meets Mimikyu, who reveals a startling power. At the beginning of summer, Professor Snape also encounters Mimi and gets a surprise of his own.

_Two weeks later:_

Sirius stood, fidgeting, as Remus straightened his collar.

“There you go, boy,” Remus said, patting his glossy black head. “You look very smart. That fleabath finally took, thank Merlin.”

Sirius panted.

“You’re certain this is how you want to meet them?” Remus sighed. “Right then, Padfoot. Here we go.”

They Apparated well outside the Tonkses’ new security system (a practical gift from Kingsley and his father). Remus felt the bone-deep thrum of identifying magic before the wards opened to admit them.

The house appeared all at once: a neat white cottage, likely larger on the inside, with a well-tended garden and climbing roses. It looked like a page from a storybook.

The complete destruction of his pack had almost killed Remus. Wondering what had become of Harry hurt so profoundly that he simply didn’t think of him, placing all his trust in Dumbledore. He’d been wrong there.

At his insistence, Moody shared the photos of Harry’s bruises and that horrible cupboard. Remus stayed calm, determined to keep the worst from Sirius, still recovering from his own ill treatment – but oh, it hurt his heart. Baby Harry, little Pronglet, with Lily’s incomparable eyes and James’s incorrigible hair. They’d wanted another, a sister or brother for Harry, just as soon as the war was over …

And Peter had ruined it all.

Remus was certain that Peter had accidentally blown himself up. He simply couldn’t imagine their timid friend, who detested pain of any kind, coolly severing his own finger and tossing it away just to implicate Sirius. And if he’d fled, where was he now? He’d adored his mother – would he have left her mourning? Perhaps, if he was frightened enough … but Voldemort was dead, and (according to Sirius) Peter was still in hiding. Who was he afraid of? None of the Death Eaters had known him for a spy – if they had, surely it would have come out as a bargaining chip. Karkaroff, for one, would have given him up in an instant. No, Peter had to be dead.

And he and Sirius were alive, and so was Harry. Remus shook himself and rang the bell.

“I’ve got it, Mother!”

There was a skidding thump, a muffled exclamation (Padfoot snorted), and finally a young teenager opened the door. Her hair was bright pink and she had a friendly, open face.

“Wotcher!” she chirped, and Andromeda appeared as if conjured.

“Nymphadora,” she said in an undertone.

“Sorry, Mum,” said Nymphadora Tonks. “I meant to say: ‘Welcome to our lovely home, may I take your coats? Or brush your coat, as the case may be?’”

“Better,” Andromeda sighed. “Hello, you must be Remus. I’m Andromeda – Sirius calls me ‘Andi,’ but he’s the only one. This is my daughter, Nymphadora.”

“Just Tonks, please.”

“She prefers to be addressed by her surname,” Andromeda said stiffly. “Ted is just finishing dinner – please, do come in.”

“Will Sirius be here soon?” Tonks asked.

Remus flushed. “Oh, I apologize – this is Sirius. He seemed to think the Shacklebolts had told you …”

“He’s an Animagus! Wicked cool!”

Sirius woofed approvingly.

“I’ll get Harry, he’ll love this,” Tonks said. “HARRY!”

And there he was: Harry James, baby Harry, only son of the Gryffindor Marauders.

He was short and slight, underfed, but Remus would have known him anywhere. He had no heightened senses in his two-legged form, but Sirius scented him and went crazy – wriggling, whining, wagging his tail so that it blurred. His barks caught like sobs in his throat.

“Mimi, remember, no attacking people’s pets,” Harry was saying. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lupin – or are you Mr. Black?”

“I’m Remus Lupin,” he said hoarsely. “And this must be Mimikyu.”

Mimi peered at him from behind Harry. Her dress was freshly ironed, and her eyes glittered in a friendly way. At least Remus hoped it was friendly.

“You can call her Mimi,” Harry offered.

“We’re honoured to meet you, Mimi.” Something about the small, inoffensive-looking creature was pulling on his senses, causing the wolf to stir uneasily. He firmly ignored it. “Harry is very important to Sirius and myself. We are forever in your debt.”

Tonks jumped in: “Sirius Black is the dog, Harry! He’s an Animagus. Not many can handle the transformation – it’s quite difficult. One of my teachers is a cat!”

Harry’s eyes shone with interest. “Are all of them pets? All of the – Animaguses, I mean.”

“Everyone has their own special form,” Remus said. “Sirius is loyal, impulsive, and inhumanly smelly, so ‘dog’ was a perfect fit.”

They all laughed, even Andromeda. Padfoot gave him a dirty look.

“Can he change back?” Harry asked.

“He seemed to think you’d prefer this form,” Remus said. “You loved rolling around on the floor with Padfoot, although you had a bad habit of grabbing his fur. Sometimes you’d come away with fistfuls, and Lily would say –”

“Harry very much wants to hear stories about Lily and James,” Andromeda interjected. “But we all talked it over and thought that for today, maybe you’d just like to get reacquainted.”

This was both sensible and kind. “I understand, Mrs. Tonks – Andromeda. I’d love to see Harry’s room, if you don’t mind a quick tour.”

He’d hit upon the perfect thing to say. Harry’s face positively glowed as he led them to his room. He proudly directed their attention to the Hogwarts Quidditch game playing in miniature on the ceiling (twelve matches ran in a loop, giving each House the chance to stomp all of its rivals). Tonks bragged about her mother’s clever enchantment of the carpet, which shifted depending on the games being played; Remus admired the large toy castle surrounded by knights and dragons, with the carpet ringed blue for a moat and bunched up behind to form a line of green hills. The bed was made up in gold and green. There was a pink satin pillow for Mimi, too, set in a charming windowseat looking out on the garden.

Remus turned away. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Andromeda touched his shoulder. “We want you to be part of Harry’s life. Both you and my dear cousin.”

Padfoot abruptly transformed.

Sirius was thin, but no longer gaunt. His eyes were still a touch wild. As he stared at Harry, Remus saw the bolt of horrified realization: Years had passed, and James was truly dead and gone.

“The room is lovely, Harry, we’ll just be outside for a moment,” he rattled off, steering Sirius back through the door.

Mimi had remained in the hallway.

“Pardon us, Mimikyu, we really have to –”

_Look at me._

Remus heard her clearly, but she was looking at Sirius. Her eyes shone like yellow diamonds as the hem of her blanket swirled.

_Don’t be afraid. What you most fear has already come to pass. Look at me._

Sirius obeyed.

Mimi’s eyes grew still brighter. _I cannot return what you’ve lost, but I can take the worst away. The loneliness, the screams in the dark … I can extract them for you. I do this for Harry, and it does not hurt him. Or myself._

“Please,” Sirius rasped.

He stilled, keeping eye contact as Mimi rose. Remus could no longer hear what was said, if anything, and he’d just begun to panic when a cloud suddenly rose from Sirius’s skin. Blue-black particles rushed from his pores, sifting furiously before coalescing into a ball the colour of midnight.

When it was nearly as big as herself, Mimi darted forward. Remus couldn’t see what happened – he saw one of her claws extend, and the sphere seemed to balance itself on the point – but in an instant, the smoke was gone.

Sirius opened his eyes. They were silvery grey, and Remus realised with a shock of memory that this was their true shade. They’d turned a darker grey in Azkaban.

“That’s better,” he said, and passed out.

The sound of Sirius thudding against the floor brought Ted Tonks running (still wearing a paisley oven glove), followed by Andromeda, Harry, and Dora. Chaos briefly reigned.

Once Sirius had been Reenervated, hugging Harry briefly before reassuring everyone that he felt fine, never better (at least that he could remember!), they all ate a wonderful meal out in the magically temperate garden. When it ended, the two men took their leave with a firm invitation to return within the week, and Sirius Black had lost the weight of the world. He still talked about Harry nonstop, it was true, but the manic desperation to see him, and the frequent confusion of his name with James’s, had gone for good.

And Remus, surrounded by his pack old and new, began to live again.

***

On the first of July, Harry Potter-Black met his summer tutor. Dora, as her brother was permitted to call her, had begun the holidays even more anxious and accident-prone than usual, warning Harry to stay on his best behavior and helping him practise basic Potions techniques.

Andromeda had already noticed and encouraged her son’s knowledge in the kitchen, although of course he was never forced to cook. He worked hard on peeling, slicing, dicing, mincing, and chopping, honing his skills on apples and potatoes. Once Harry’s technique was reasonably developed, Tonks set up friendly races to prepare a set quantity of ingredients.

Mimi raised the stakes with a device of her own invention: a misty, spherical timer that would puff out a small black cloud to rain on anyone who they failed to beat their own best time. Failing twice in a row prompted a tiny lightning bolt, just strong enough to stand its target’s hair on end. The whole family got used to the sound of thunder amid shrieks of laughter from the kitchen.

The doorbell rang at precisely eight a.m.

Dora answered it, visibly trembling, and Professor Snape entered their home.

He was a tall man shielded by oppressive black wool. His face reminded Harry of a rather noble (though very stern-looking) Roman statue he’d seen once in a schoolbook. His hair was tied back and Mimikyu told Harry right away that she admired the colour.

_Black as a raven’s heart._

Professor Snape greeted their mother courteously before turning to face them. He had very dark eyes that also reminded Mimi of a raven’s, and Harry fought the impulse to run and hide from their assessing gaze.

“You know my daughter, Nymphadora Tonks,” Andromeda said, poised and correct. “And this is my adopted son, Harry Potter-Black.”

“Pleased to meet you, Professor Snape,” Harry said sincerely. “Thank you for teaching me Potions and Defence. I promise to work very hard.”

The professor did not reply immediately. He glanced at Mimi, hovering close to Harry’s side, and seemed to consider his words carefully.

“I am pleased to meet you as well, Mr. … Potter-Black. Before we begin our lessons, I require some information.”

Andromeda tensed, and Dora somehow tripped without taking a step.

“About your familiar,” Professor Snape clarified, sneering very slightly. “If she is to join us, I need to know how she is likely to behave. What is her level of intelligence?”

“Humanoid,” Andromeda answered. “As a Being, her intelligence is comparable to –”

_I am a Ghost Fairy, kin to the Bugul Noz. In this world they call me Boggart, but I am not that creature. I am an eater of night, dark consuming dark as a snake preys on its fellows. Your fear draws me, Severus Snape, and I will have it from you._

Professor Snape’s eyes widened. “Spirit –”

_Look at me._

As if facing his executioner, the professor complied.

“Mimikyu, stop!”

_This is for the best. This will protect you, and I swear it will not harm him. Harry, stand back._

Her eyes glowed, yellow and merciless as a cobra’s.

Professor Snape stood his ground – most courageously, Harry and Dora would later agree – and met that predatory gaze.

 _The roots are deep,_ Mimi said. _They go back … ah. I will dig them out_.

She unsheathed her claws. The professor choked, but did not look away. 

 _This may sting a little._ She gestured sharply.

Pitch-black smoke streamed from Severus’s pores, seething and roiling up into a funnel cloud. The wind flapped Harry’s clothes, as well as his mother’s and sister’s, but he was too frightened to run. And Mimi had said it would be okay.

Harry could tell she was taken aback by the size of the cloud (or maybe the colour – was it supposed to look like death?), but those topaz eyes never faltered.

_Your love for her, would you see it gone? It hurts you, but it is not dark. I cannot take it except you ask me._

“Leave it,” the professor said instantly.

_Very well._

She twirled, fanning out her dress like a girl in summer. The funnel cloud vanished with a bang.

Professor Snape staggered. He clutched Dora’s shoulder, sending her even more off-balance, and Andromeda rushed to catch them both.

Harry apologised profusely, helping his tutor to a nearby chair and ordering Mimi to fetch (or rather float) a glass of water. When the man had recovered enough to open his eyes, he was met by Lily’s gaze in the face of an ashen seven-year-old, regarding him with genuine concern.

For the first time in twelve years, Severus took a breath without pain or regret. Lily was there, safe in memory, smiling across a Hogwarts library table. She was reading their fourth-year Potions book, the end of her wand absently lit and dangling between her fingers like Audrey Hepburn’s cigarette holder in that ridiculous movie. She was fire and sunlight and Severus had loved her, in his often selfish, misguided way, and loved her memory still.

As he thought of his role in her death, he no longer felt as though hot coals were being jammed beneath his skin. The anguish had vanished, drained away by Mimikyu, and in its place stood a calm resolve. He loved Lily Evans, wife of James Potter, who died with him to save their child’s life. He would see her murderer dead and gone forever.

His shadowy path had cleared, as if lit by the moon.

Severus looked at her son.

“Your mother was brilliant at Potions.” (Lily smiled at that, in his memory.) “I hope your mother and father have procured a decent set of knives for your Potions kit, not that cheap plated trash from the bargain bin.”

“I’m a Healer, Severus,” Andromeda said with just a hint of indignation, taking her cue. (She was a Slytherin, after all.) “I know the importance of proper tools.”

“Very well.” He drew himself up and took another breath. “Let us see if you’ve retained any vestige of this year’s Potions and Defence curricula, Miss Tonks, and then you will assist me in teaching your brother. We have four summers until his first year – I will be most disappointed if, in this bounty of time, we cannot bring him up to a level that would make his mother proud.” He met Andromeda’s eyes. “That will make all of his parents proud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time jump (from late fall to July), but all that happens in the interim is Harry settling in, Remus and Sirius moving forward, and Snape resigning himself to his fate by accepting the summer teaching contract. Mimikyu's powers and origin are altered from canon to better suit the Potterverse (although their exact nature has yet to be revealed). I included a disclaimer on the FF dot net cross-posting and realized I needed one here, so: I do not own Harry Potter or any spells, locations, characters, etc., nor do I own Pokémon or Mimikyu. Credit for these creations goes to to J.K. Rowling (HP) and Satoshi Tajiri (Pokémon).


	6. Happy Birthday, Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As we move forward in time to Harry's 11th birthday, there are a few exposition-related stops along the way. Mimikyu's changes have a ripple effect on Snape, Sirius, and others. Harry meets another friend.

Time passed as it does for children, Muggle or magical: an age for them, a moment for their parents.

Harry's eleventh birthday fell on a Wednesday.

"You'd better be Hufflepuff," Dora said confidently, closing her seventh-year Potions text with a bang.

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Potter-Black will be Sorted according to his abilities and interests. He would do well to heed the advice he is given."

"Tell me about the Sorting," Harry begged, not for the first time. "Do I have to duel a teacher? Look in a magic mirror?"

"I already told you," said his sister. "All the firsties have to wrestle a troll –"

"Wrestling is no defence against a troll," Snape said, quelling her with a look. "In the unlikely event that you should face one, all species of troll are distracted by shiny objects. Simply conjure a good-sized cubic zirconia and toss it well away from the means of egress. If you find yourself facing a troll in the dark, cast _Lumos_ to make the gem sparkle."

Harry glanced at his sister. "'Egress' means 'exit,'" she murmured. "I think."

"How do you conjure a cubic zerbonia, Professor?"

"Zirconia," Snape corrected. "The cubic crystalline form of zirconium dioxide, almost entirely manufactured. The incantation is simply _Cubic zirconia_ , with a swoop and flick. A first-year could do it. Well – some first-years." He allowed his gaze to linger insultingly on Harry.

Harry grinned in response. His favourite tutor was genuinely fond of him, in his standoffish way, and they both knew it.

Mimi openly adored Snape. She enjoyed resting her claws on his forearm, tapping gently in a soothing rhythm that he never acknowledged, but always allowed. The two had bonded over the years, and the irascible man was perhaps her third-favourite human, aside from Harry and Andromeda. (Dora's balance had improved, but she was slightly too unpredictable for Mimi, who disliked being startled. Ted treated Mimi very cordially, but was often at work.)

Sirius also got on well with his godson's familiar. She didn't soothe him as she did Snape, but she would often sit near him, perched on the antique child's chair he'd salvaged especially for her from his old family home.

The house itself, an infested mausoleum on Grimmauld Place, had been burned to its foundation years ago. This formidable task was handled by Dumbledore, in partial repayment of his debt to Sirius. The old wizard steadfastly denied Confunding anyone – a claim that was backed, to Sirius's surprise, by Severus Snape – but he admitted his failure to protect a loyal member of the Order. His stated motive for abandoning Sirius to his fate was fury over being deceived and betrayed, fear that the powerful Black family would buy off the Wizengamot, and his own grief for James and Lily – for which Sirius could hardly fault him. Remus, however, did not forgive so easily. The Shacklebolt family also treated Dumbledore coolly whenever their paths crossed.

Destroying an entire Wizarding home was no small feat, however, and Sirius appreciated the help. Wielded by Dumbledore, a phalanx of phoenix-shaped flames mysteriously left Numbers 11 and 13 untouched while immolating their neighbour. A magical construction crew was brought in to conceal the gap between houses.

Sirius (and Remus, as his steward) now resided at an ancestral country house in Dorset, which was kept up by three house elves – including Kreacher, the Black family's sole surviving elf. Following a lengthy visit from Mimi, Kreacher was able to accept the loss of Grimmauld Place. He begged and was granted permission for a final walk-through before his old home was destroyed.

Elfin hands, gnarled by a century of labour, placed Slytherin's locket on a splintery old end table. If it screamed as it burned, there was no one left to hear.

(Mimi had already dealt with Walburga Black's portrait. That was a harrowing business and she refused to allow anyone to witness it, but the end result was an empty frame and a much more peaceful Kreacher.)

Remus remained on edge around Mimikyu, but Harry understood why. Shortly after their first meeting at the Tonkses, Mimi had told him that the gentle man suffered from lycanthropy.

_The Wolf senses me_ , she told him. _I could tear it out, but it would kill him in the process. Removing Dark magic from a living vessel is very difficult._

She told him, briefly, what she'd done for Sirius.

_He will heal more quickly now, and I imagine he will be a much better godfather to you._ She put her claws gently on his knee. _We will always be together, but I want the best human friends for us. They can help me protect you._

When Harry was old enough to understand how shabbily Wizarding society treated its werewolves, he confessed to Remus that Mimi had realised his condition long ago and that he, Harry, didn't care. When he asked Professor Snape to teach him the Wolfsbane Potion, Snape had consented to cover the easier steps. The complete potion would have to wait until he was older, as it required a magically strong brewer.

Sirius and Andromeda purchased Wolfsbane Potion from Snape, providing it to the Black family steward in exchange for weekly lessons in Charms and Defence during the school year. In summer, Remus and Severus occasionally co-taught, demonstrating defensive and offensive spells in formal duels. Both enjoyed disarming the other with extreme prejudice, and _Expelliarmus_ became a staple for both Dora and Harry.

Moody stepped up his campaign to recruit Nymphadora Tonks, offering to defer his own retirement in order to mentor her personally. At the end of her sixth year, Tonks resolved to try for seven N.E.W.T.s before applying to the Auror program, which had tripled its hiring budget in response to an increase in qualified graduates.

Sirius enjoyed tutoring his young cousin and godson in Transfiguration. (Sometimes he lapsed into a high-pitched Scottish burr, cracking himself up as Remus rolled his eyes.) He agreed to tutor Harry in the Animagus transformation on one condition: that Harry and Tonks each learn the Patronus Charm. Even with Mimi's help, Sirius would always remain terrified of Dementors.

Tonks produced a corporeal Patronus on her second try, but Harry had to be satisfied with silver mist. His sister often sent her ebullient jackrabbit leaping all over the house, to be chased by her mother's sea serpent or her father's rhinoceros.

During the months that Dora was away at Hogwarts, the Tonkses oversaw their son's education. Given their professions, Harry's education naturally skewed toward the Healing arts. His father also insisted on teaching him the basics of Muggle math, reading, science, and British history, which they fit in around Ted's schedule at St. Mungo's.

An old Pureblood trick enabled Harry to dodge the restrictions on underage magic: claiming a deceased family member's wand. For his eighth birthday, Andromeda took him to Gringotts and accessed the Potter family vault. (His trust vault, she assured him, was very boring – a decent amount of coinage, meant to see him clothed and fed and provided with a monthly allowance.)

There were three wands inside the Potter vault. When Harry waved a sixteen-inch wand of applewood and dragon heartstring, it warmed to his touch and shot topaz-coloured sparks. The wandmaker in Diagon Alley, bribed and sworn to silence by Andromeda, had been ecstatic.

"Applewood for Light magic, dragon heartstring that often succumbs to the Dark," mused Garrick Ollivander, balancing the wand on his palm. "This was the wand of Dorea Potter, born Dorea Black. I believe you will keep a foot in each world, Mr. Potter, and those who can walk with the Dark while remaining in Light must lead significant lives." His gaze flickered to the lightning-bolt scar and then to Andromeda, whose eyes narrowed in warning. "We must expect very great things from you, I believe … Mr. Potter-Black."

Mimikyu had remained at home for that excursion, as none of them wanted to risk her startling the goblins. Harry resolved to keep her out of the wand shop, too.

The cryptic, eerie Ollivander had much in common with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore took tea with Harry and Andromeda every fourth Sunday, chatting about Harry's studies. They always met in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley.

"I won't have that man in our house," Andromeda once told her husband. Her voice was so intense that Harry, reading quietly in the drawing room, knew he wasn't meant to overhear. "I shall never forgive him, never, for abandoning our son to those horrible people."

Even as years slipped by, Harry never warmed to the man who had chosen to leave him on the Dursleys' doorstep. Kingsley explained, when Harry was old enough, that Dumbledore had believed his mother's death had created a powerful blood ward around her sister's house. It was the combined efforts of the Auror Department and New Scotland Yard that saw Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia imprisoned for child abuse; Dumbledore, Harry knew instinctively, would have sent him back to Privet Drive.

At Harry's insistence, Mimi always stayed at home, well away from the meddling old Headmaster.

So the Tonkses lived their lives, happily and with a great deal of hard work as well as some clever ambition. (Andromeda, backed by Snape, often put in a good word for Slytherin.) Harry remembered little about his time with the Dursleys; Mimi had soothed his nightmares into oblivion.

Sirius and Remus, too, seemed to have moved on. Both men devoted years to straightening out the Black estate and improving the family's reputation. Sirius had recently begun courting Reina, who was specializing in spell damage during her final Trainee year. Besides spending time with her, his favorite pastime was needling Lucius Malfoy during meetings of the Wizengamot. The most enjoyable way to do this, besides using his Heir's ring to reflect tiny beams of light directly into Lucius's eyes, was to announce that whatever vote he'd cast had just cancelled out the Malfoys'.

Severus Snape's turn for the better was marked by Dumbledore, his colleagues, and most of all by his students. Following a year of rampant conspiracy theories (replacement via Polyjuice was the most popular, although possession by Casper the Friendly Ghost had its proponents among Muggle-borns), most Hogwarts students began to appreciate learning Potions from an expert. Although he still favoured Slytherin, Snape no longer took points unfairly and was even seen to almost smile, once or twice.

The Weasley twins were stymied by a Potions professor who seemed to predict every prank. The first time Snape countered Fred and George's antics with minor hexes of his own invention, he won their undying respect. They threw themselves into their study of Potions, developing quickly into genuine talents.

If Dumbledore anguished over his spy's apparent happiness and renewed sense of purpose, he gave no sign. His acceptance may have been inspired by the decrease in Howlers from parents as well as the increase in students eligible for Healer apprenticeships, Auror training, and Potions masteries. What was the role of one man, however significant, against a more fully prepared and educated Wizarding world?

And so – at long last – came Harry's eleventh birthday celebration. His family and tutors were there, along with all four Shacklebolts, Alastor Moody, and Pandora and Luna Lovegood. Kreacher deftly served cake along with tea and sandwiches. Harry lingered over his presents, savouring them as he did every year.

For this landmark day, he received a set of crystal vials and a solid copper cauldron from Snape; a leatherbound journal from Remus, charmed so that only he could read it, with a bonus homework planner; a deluxe St. Mungo's first-aid kit from Reina; a Fanged Geranium from Noor Shacklebolt that came potted in a clay vessel with a lapis lazuli glaze, thrown and fired by Pandora Lovegood; personal warding for his school trunk from Rex Shacklebolt; dragonhide gloves from Kingsley, charmed to protect his hands in Potions and to block hexes and jinxes in Defence; a book from (and written by) Moody entitled _Not Cricket: Sneaky and Underhanded Defensive Charms_ , as well as an invitation for Harry and Dora to tour the Auror Department with the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones; a fierce hug and his first real broom, a top-of-the-line Nimbus 2000, courtesy of Sirius; a package from Dumbledore, to be opened later with his parents' supervision; and a book about magical creatures from Luna and Pandora, accompanied by a silver amulet for clear thinking.

With Andromeda's help, Mimikyu had framed and wrapped a candid photo of Harry and herself, snuggled in her windowseat one afternoon.

"I'll give you my present once you're Sorted," Dora told him as he hugged Mimi. "It's something for school and you'll love it. Happy birthday, little brother."

And finally, from his parents: a gorgeous female snowy owl.

"Of course you already have a familiar," Ted told his son. "The _best_ familiar. But we expect weekly letters from Hogwarts, and your mother and I thought perhaps Mimi would like another friend. So Hedwig is a present for you both."

"Hedwig?" Harry held out his arm, and the snowy owl flew to him. She had keen yellow eyes and was very careful with her talons, which he appreciated.

"She was already named when we bought her," Andromeda said. "She bowled over three other owls as we entered the shop. I could swear she'd been waiting for us."

At Harry's nod, Mimikyu hovered to inspect their new companion. When the snowy owl blinked and hissed in a friendly way, Mimi hissed back.

_I love her! Dark and light, just like us. And her talons are very fearsome._

"Snowy owls aren't nocturnal, so perhaps they can keep each other company on weekdays," Ted continued. "Go for a fly in the forest, that sort of thing."

"I love her," Harry said. "Thanks, Mum and Dad. Thank you all so much. This is the best birthday ever."

He felt sad that his birth parents had missed this, and he could tell that Sirius and Remus felt the same. But he couldn't mourn Lily and James for long, not on his birthday. He left the table and ran to play with Luna and Dora, Mimi and Hedwig gliding close behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will post Friday night, followed by a hiatus until May 28th due to an out-of-country trip. After Harry's birthday, we zoom in again and find out what happens on the Hogwarts Express. 
> 
> Sirius's turnaround with Remus as his steward is inspired by the fascinating epic fic "A Marauder's Plan," written by CatsAreCool (Rachel500). Dumbledore's motives for abandoning Sirius to Azkaban without trial are common to many fanfics and are pretty logical, from his perspective. (I've also seen many good arguments that Dumbledore wanted Harry with the Dursleys and not an irresponsible 21-year-old man, but I'm not using that scenario here - no Evil!Dumbledore, although he is certainly twisty and would absolutely have sent a child back to an abusive home, as he does in canon.) I've read several fics where Hedwig knows Harry, even across time and dimensions, and it's one of my favorite pieces of semi-obscure fanon.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I value every one of your comments, bookmarks, and kudos.


	7. On That Morning Train to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Mimi meet two new friends on their journey. Draco Malfoy is surprised and dismayed. Hermione is relieved of a burden.

In September, Harry packed his trunk, holstered his new holly wand, and boarded the train for Hogwarts. Tonks mussed his hair before leaving for the Prefects' meeting, leaving Harry to find a seat in the first-year carriage.

Mimikyu hovered by his side, hidden under the invisibility cloak that Dumbledore had borrowed from James Potter in wartime and returned to Harry in lieu of a birthday gift. Once they'd reached the right carriage, the two friends ducked inside the nearest compartment with empty seats.

It was occupied by two witches. One was blonde and rather severe-looking, sitting straight with her legs crossed at the ankle. The other was a determined-looking girl with a clever, fine-boned face and a cloud of chestnut hair.

"—said it's important to make friends, but the customs are all so different," she was telling the first girl. "I went to buy a book of Wizarding etiquette, but then I thought, etiquette is dictated by those in power to exclude those not considered _worthy_ of polite society, so why should I support such an outmoded way of thinking?"

"Well," the other girl said faintly. "You've given me a lot to consider. Will you excuse me? Only I think my friends must be in the next compartment."

She went to stand up, but the train's motion rocked her back rather awkwardly. She glared at Harry (as if he were somehow at fault), but then her eyes widened.

"You're Harry Potter!"

He and his parents had discussed what to do in this situation, so Harry answered easily: "It's Potter-Black, actually – adopted, you know. I don't believe we've met."

"Daphne Greengrass," she said. "My father was good friends with your mother at one time – your adopted mother, I should say. They were in Slytherin together."

The other girl frowned and said: "Slytherin is a bit prejudiced, isn't it? I could easily read between the lines in _Hogwarts, A History_ , and it sounds as though they've created a deliberately hostile environment for Muggle-borns and other minorities."

Daphne's voice lowered the temperature in the compartment (quite literally). Mimi stirred beside him, rustling the cloak. "I'm afraid you can't believe everything you read … between the lines, as you say. Slytherin House deserves respect." She glanced at Harry. "I would be proud to Sort into my father's house, but would also accept Ravenclaw. I myself have no negative feeling on Muggle-borns, although I have yet to meet any."

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I never introduced myself. I'm Hermione Granger." For the first time, she seemed unsure of herself. "My parents are Muggles, of course. They're quite anxious, and I can't blame them. This is all so strange, and I've had nearly a year to prepare. I can't imagine how Muggle-borns with late birthdays must feel."

"I would have been blindsided," Harry commiserated. "I just turned eleven a month ago."

"I'll be twelve next week," Hermione said. "It's not really fair – I've had months to memorise the textbooks, so I'll be pretty far ahead."

Harry and Daphne both laughed.

Before Hermione could take offence, Harry explained: "I've had year-round tutoring since I was seven. Many other Purebloods and half-bloods have practised magic at home all their lives. Magical strength takes years to build and can vary widely, but Muggle-borns are at an unfair disadvantage when it comes to theory. At least, that's what my tutor says."

"Some Purebloods really are lazy," Daphne offered. "There's one in our year, Draco Malfoy, who spends all of his time bullying House Elves and flying around his personal Quidditch pitch rather than applying himself to his studies. I'm rather looking forward to seeing him trounced by a Muggle-born. And by the Boy-Who-Lived. And by me."

She smiled a little, and Hermione smiled tentatively back.

"Please let me offer you a bit of advice, Hermione." (Harry winced, guessing what was coming.) "I strongly encourage you to have your teeth fixed at the earliest opportunity. The matron should be able to do so after the Welcoming Feast, if you ask to visit the infirmary. They mark you instantly as Muggle-born, and your life at Hogwarts will be easier the more you're able to fit in. I promise you that I mean this kindly, and not at all as a criticism of your upbringing."

Hermione drew herself up, looking furious, and Mimi chose that moment to show herself.

Daphne squealed. Hermione seemed stunned, then rabidly curious.

"Is this your familiar, Harry? Oh, she's got a little rune!"

"This is Mimikyu," Harry said proudly, glad of the distraction. "Mimi for short. She's my best friend. Mimi, I'd like to introduce you to Daphne Greengrass and Hermione Granger. They're first-years at Hogwarts, too."

Mimi curtseyed and bobbed her painted head, causing both girls to exclaim with delight.

"Mimi's something like a Boggart, but she won't show you your greatest fear if you don't want her to."

"Not today, thanks," Daphne said, amused. "Although I'm very pleased to meet you, Mimi, and I hope we shall be friends. You may not know this, but the Express is enchanted to promote the bonds of friendship. Even people who are fundamentally unlike –"

"Of _course_ I want to know my greatest fear!"

If Hermione had spoken to Harry, he might have been able to stop her. As it was, she appealed directly to Mimikyu.

_Then look at me, brave little witch._

Daphne gasped as Mimi's eyes glowed yellow, reflecting in Hermione's. A boy chose that moment to open the door, babbling something about a toad, and retreated at speed. The door snicked shut again just as Mimikyu spoke.

_You fear failure, but this is a thin scab over the wound. You fear that you are not truly special. Your magical power has exhilarated you, increased your pride in your unusually keen mind, but you are still afraid. You fear that you will fail to dominate at Hogwarts, leaving even a single classmate who can claim superiority based on blood. You fear that deep down, you are ordinary – and that you will never, ever have so much as one true friend. I understand this fear, brave little witch. You fear that you will live and die alone, without even your pride for comfort. You cling to it even as it strangles you._

Harry heard every word, and so did Daphne (going by her expression of horrified sympathy). Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

"What can I do?" she said, blinking hard. "How do I fix it?"

_Look at me._

She resisted for a moment, tears rolling down her cheeks, and then opened her eyes again. They were amber-brown, Harry noticed, and even though she was obviously afraid, she raised them to meet Mimikyu's.

_I will not take away your drive, your urge to prove yourself. These are not dark impulses; they make good servants, but poor masters. I will blunt the edge of your insecurity. I will draw out your urge to dominate your classmates – you can triumph without bludgeoning your rivals. I will temper your anxiety with resolve, as I have done for Harry. Does this meet with your approval, little witch?_

"Yes," Hermione said. "Yes, I want that. Please."

Mimi's eyes glowed still brighter. Harry grabbed Daphne's hands and held on.

The black smoke that rose from Hermione's skin was much fainter than Snape's. It swirled prettily grey, almost like Patronus mist. Mimi balanced the smoky ball on one claw, and then it was gone.

Hermione gasped like a drowning girl washed ashore.

"Hermione!" Daphne cried. "Harry, what did she do to her? What kind of creature _is_ that?"

"Wait, please."

Harry was still the Boy Who Lived, and Andromeda had taught him how to inhabit this role when necessary. His voice carried the ring of authority. (He still held on to Daphne's hands, just in case it didn't work. He was only eleven, after all, and his Voice of Authority had nothing on Snape's.)

"I think I'm going to be sick," Hermione said, slumping back in her seat.

Harry drew his wand and conjured a kidney dish. "Here's this if you need it," he said, setting it beside her rather awkwardly. "Sorry about that."

"That was amazing, Harry! How did you cast a spell without even –"

An arrogant-looking blond boy chose that moment to barge in, flanked by two boulders who appeared to be eleven-year-old bodyguards. He looked quite short and slim by comparison, and Harry noted that the overall effect was not intimidating.

"Harry Potter-Black," the boy spat. "You've a lot of nerve using that name, with your mother disowned and cast out for marrying –"

"My mother was reinstated into the Black family by my godfather, the Heir," Harry replied automatically. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The boy swelled up like a toad. (Had Harry imagined it, or had he heard something earlier about a toad?) "I'm Draco Malfoy!"

"Oh, yes," Harry said. "I've heard of you."

"So have I," Hermione said, straight-faced. "You've got your own Quidditch pitch."

This seemed to please him. "Greengrass," he acknowledged, nodding to Daphne.

"Malfoy," Daphne replied, sounding deceptively bored. The gleam in her blue eyes gave her away. "This is Hermione Granger, Muggle-born, and of course everyone knows Harry Potter-Black."

These bombshells dropped, Daphne settled back to watch the show.

"If you're associating with Muggle-borns, Greengrass, then I've nothing further to say," Malfoy sneered. "Potter-Black, I'd expect no better from you. Runs in the muddy blood, I imagine."

"Yeah, well, your mother wears combat boots," Harry replied.

The Muggle insult couldn't have been more effective. Red-faced and snarling, Malfoy drew his wand on Harry … only to be met by Mimikyu.

Lucius Malfoy threw off a yellow blanket-dress. His eyes, haunted by regret and despair, were fixed on Draco as he rolled up his left sleeve. A gruesome tattoo of a snake inside a skull writhed over the pale skin, and Harry could hear the snake itself hissing the same words over and over: _"Imperio. Cruciatusss. Avada Kedavra. Luciusss. Imperio …"_

"My precious only son, I have no choice," said Draco's father. "The Dark Lord has risen again. I must go to him, now. You must be a good servant, my son, as I have been … as your mother must be … as we all will be, now the Dark Lord is risen again."

Draco shrieked and ran, smacking the frosted-glass door like a bird before righting himself. Crabbe and Goyle were close on his heels. The sound of them colliding with the snack trolley reverberated through the carriage.

Daphne was slack-jawed, staring at Lucius. Hermione seemed to take it all in stride.

"I read about the Dark Lord Voldemort," she said conversationally. "He's in all the same books as you, Harry."

Mimi shrank and swirled beneath her blanket. Her painted face turned to Harry, tilted uncertainly.

"It's all right," he said, patting her. "Thank you for defending me, Mimikyu."

"Thank you for defending me, too," Hermione told her. "And – and for the rest of it. I didn't realise how worried I've been ..." She fell into a thoughtful silence.

"This has been the most shocking day of my life," Daphne said. She beamed a charmingly dimpled smile at Mimikyu, Hermione, and finally at Harry. "You're all absolutely insane. I feel quite privileged to be here with you, on the train to Hogwarts."

They all felt it: the moment their paths aligned, for good or ill.

"Friends?" someone said.

"Friends," the other two replied, and Mimi twirled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 will post near the end of May, after I've returned from a two-week trip overseas. Thank you all for reading and following, and I love all of your comments :)
> 
> Just as an FYI, this fic is cross-posted on FanFiction dot net, sometimes with a bit more detail in the author's notes. I usually post there first and then jump back to AO3.


	8. Sorting Hat Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First glimpse of Hogwarts and some of its inhabitants. Harry is Sorted (after managing to offend the Hat), and Mimi's attention is drawn to the Head Table.

That first glimpse of Hogwarts was pure magic. Hermione gasped in wonder, and even Daphne couldn't seem to stop smiling.

Mimi kept to his lap for the boat ride over, hovering invisibly once they reached the crowded little chamber off the Entrance Hall. (Getting the cloak to cover her without turning his waist invisible was a little tricky – he folded the silvery fabric to match her size, and she had to hover very slightly.) Hagrid, whom he knew from Dumbledore and Dora's stories, smiled at him hugely and obviously saw nothing amiss. Professor McGonagall eyed him with catlike suspicion, but he was pretty sure she didn't know that Mimi, tired and bored, was now hovering just above her head. Harry only knew because a corner of cloak hung down beside the Transfiguration professor's pointed hat, concealing one of her ears. None of his classmates seemed to notice, or if they did, they assumed it was magic.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Hermione asked him, once McGonagall left and they were waiting to be summoned into the Great Hall.

"Some sort of test," Harry replied. "Dora – that's my sister, she's in Hufflepuff –"

Malfoy snorted, clearly audible, and Harry ignored him.

"—and she said I'd have to duel Se – one of the teachers here, only I couldn't use my wand. He laughed at me when I asked, so I'm pretty sure she was having me on. I really hope so."

Then something happened that made several of the students gasp. A few of them shrieked. Harry's blood ran cold, because he'd completely forgotten about –

"The school ghosts!" Daphne exclaimed. "There must be twenty of them! Look, there's the Bloody Baron – and the Grey Lady, Mum told me about her …"

_Don't move, Mimi,_ he thought desperately. _And please don't show yourself!_

They'd grown better at communicating without eye contact, but it didn't always work. He was relieved to hear her response.

_Shiny humans! I wish I could float through walls … What kind of ghosts are they?_

Harry shook his head, drawing a puzzled look from Daphne.

_Just stay hidden, okay? If you scare all the first-years, Dumbledore will make us leave!_

_I promise_ , she said, but he could feel her reluctance. _Do you think … maybe one of them wants to make friends? While you're away in class all day?_

_I think so_ , Harry thought back, relieved. _We'll find a friendly ghost._

There was some sort of ghost drama going on, and the Fat Friar (whom Dora admired) told them all that he hoped to see them in Hufflepuff. Harry knew that wouldn't happen – most people just didn't work that hard – but it was a nice thought, anyway.

The Sorting was very interesting, although he felt mildly sorry for Dumbledore, who must have seen a hundred of them, and especially for the Hat. It must be very boring, being a thousand-year-old psychic Hat that lived on a shelf and had one job. Maybe it slept most days, or replayed past Sortings or even whole minds to itself, like movies. (That was a slightly disturbing thought!)

There was a bad moment, right after "Bones, Susan!" went to Hufflepuff, when a red-haired boy yelped like a startled dog and pointed at Harry like he'd seen a ghost. Then Harry remembered that Mimi was safely invisible and hovering near the enchanted ceiling. Apparently the boy was just rude, and Harry guessed (correctly, as it turned out) that he was for Gryffindor.

All of the first-years were relieved to find that the Sorting trial was merely trying on an old hat. (Dora, who'd also gravely informed her younger brother that all Hogwarts first-years were required to tame and ride a unicorn, beamed at him from the Hufflepuff table.) The Hat had barely touched Hermione's hair when it shouted "RAVENCLAW!" Daphne was next, and everyone watched as she engaged the Hat in an intense discussion. Finally she took her place, straight-backed and pale, next to Hermione at the Ravenclaw table.

When the Hat called for "Longbottom, Neville!", Harry recognised the boy who'd been so pleased when Hagrid returned his wayward toad on their way up to the castle. Harry vaguely remembered Neville seeing Mimi in the train compartment and resolved to meet him at the earliest opportunity. He really didn't want Mimi in trouble, but he also didn't want any of his classmates terrified. The Hat took awhile to decide, but sent him to Hufflepuff in the end. That was good, since Harry would visit his sister before the week was out. He could talk to Neville then.

When it was time for _Potter-Black, Harry!_ , he walked up and, without thinking, cast _Tergeo_ on the Sorting Hat. (There were murmurs at this casual show of magic from a first-year, but Harry, engulfed in a much cleaner-smelling hat, couldn't hear them.) The voice in his head sputtered for a good twenty seconds before informing him that he wasn't anywhere near subtle enough for Slytherin.

Harry had expected this – he had a good idea of his flaws, thanks to his mother and Professor Snape – but was forced to argue with the Hat for several minutes, trying to persuade it not to place him in Gryffindor. (He also pointed out that wizard lice were exceedingly difficult to get rid of, but the Hat still seemed offended.)

_I'm not my father_ , he thought in a final, desperate attempt. _I really, really need a House where Mimi will be happy, too. She is …_

He hesitated. Was his friend Dark? She performed feats of mind-healing that seemed to really help people, but she did it in a slightly disturbing way …

_She is Grey_ , he thought. _Gryffindor wants heroes, not creatures. Don't send us there._

The Hat sighed, which felt a bit like cool water seeping through Harry's brain – a most unsettling sensation.

"I do like a challenge," it rumbled. "Your power is slightly above average, young Potter-Black, certainly not the strongest in your year, but gaming the system through your use of an ancestral wand is really quite Slytherin of you – I can see your mother's influence there. She, too, got around the underage restrictions quite neatly …"

_Don't insult my family_ , he thought fiercely _. Don't have a go at Slytherin, either – aren't you supposed to be fair?_

He felt the Hat blink. "Very well. I can see how hard you've worked at your lessons, these past few years, and I can sense your admirably strong loyalty – to your familiar, to your family, even to two young witches you've just met. Go and join your true friends in … RAVENCLAW!"

Harry sat there dumbly. Ravenclaw was the last house he'd have picked for himself – he knew that Dora was smarter, although he always tried to work hard – perhaps not hard enough? Did he fall short of Hufflepuff?

"You're Harry Potter-Black, the Boy Who Lived," the Hat observed. "You need clever, resourceful friends by your side, and your mind is not unpromising. Yes, you will do well in Ravenclaw."

_Thank you_ , Harry thought. He still wasn't sure, but then, the Hat had been doing this for a thousand years.

"A wise observation," the Hat said. "And you're perfectly right – most of my days are rather boring, and I enjoy a good snooze on my dusty old shelf. Go, Mr. Potter-Black, and take your familiar with you. She's disturbing Professor Quirrell."

Harry had been so anxious about the Sorting, he'd not really noticed the other teachers (aside from Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore). With the Hat's comment, he could easily identify Quirrell, Dora's Muggle Studies professor. The man was holding his mostly bald head in both hands, slowly shaking it back and forth while staring at the table. Aunt Petunia occasionally got migraine headaches, and Harry wondered if the man was about to throw up or maybe pass out. (Did wizards even get migraines?)

Then he forgot that train of thought entirely.

Mimi was still invisible, but her eyes were glowing.

They were glowing through the cloak.

A few students had noticed and were staring up at the candles. Mimi was hovering lower, her eyes like flames that had dropped from their tapers.

Harry left his seat – he remembered Longbottom, Neville, and removed the Hat first – and walked straight under Mimi. (This took him near the Gryffindor table, where the red-haired kid was still gaping at him.) Unsure what to do, he whistled a single note.

The rest of the Great Hall, students and teachers and ghosts alike, saw two glowing points of fire swoop down at Harry Potter-Black's signal. They faded as he talked to them, too softly for anyone to hear, while changing course for the Ravenclaw table. He seated himself at one end, leaving room enough on his right for … something … to sit.

An invisible Fire elemental, was the unofficial consensus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter while I polish the next. No Philosopher's Stone in this story - Dumbledore doesn't want to lure in Voldemort/test Harry, whom he already knows reasonably well - but He-Who is still hanging around, making trouble. I am not planning exhaustive looks at each year (total word count will be 60,000, give or take), so please bear with me while I work out pacing. (No beta, and I value and consider your comments.)
> 
> Work is revving up for the summer, so updates will be weekly instead of every few days, but I will try to post longer chapters (except for this one). Thank you for reading, especially after a break. My travels included a really fun "London for Muggles" tour, although I was by far the most involved person (apart from the guide, who was terrific, and my spouse, who was a good sport), as well as several days in beautiful Edinburgh, where I saw a truly impressive number of overpriced Harry Potter souvenirs (e.g., literally every wand from the movie, little models of Horcruxes, stuffed Fawkeses and Buckbeaks, etc.). It was wonderful and exhausting and I'm glad to be home.


	9. Ten Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first two weeks at Hogwarts are always eventful - this year more than most.

Letter I

Monday, 2 September 1991

Dear Mother and Father:

Sorting went as expected, and Greg and Vince and I are rooming with Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini in Slytherin. Zabini’s a bit of a snob, and Nott’s a swot who should be in Ravenclaw, but at least they’re both the _right sort_.

Speaking of Ravenclaw, the _Chosen One_ sorted there along with the Greengrass girl and a Mudblood who looks as though she’s been dragged through a hedge. I saw them on the train, and they sat together at the feast after Potter’s Sorting. There’s a rumour that Potter has some sort of _fire demon_ at his command, which is patently ridiculous. I’ve seen his familiar – a horrible creature that ought not to be allowed. I’m _sure_ Dumbledore is behind all this. Father should look into it _soon_.

Thank you for the care package, Mother. Please send more of the sugared violets, as Pansy ate the lot.

With sincerest affection,

your loving son,

Draco

 

###

 

Letter II

Sunday, 1 September

Hi Mum and Dad,

I’m in Ravenclaw! Just about the last House I thought I’d end up in, but so far it’s brilliant (ha ha). The common room isn’t half so cosy as Hufflepuff’s, but it’s nice to see mountains out the window and the stars at night are really something. Good for Astronomy revision, Hermione says. She’s very studious, but Daphne says that Muggle-borns are often that way. Hermione’s practically got all the books memorised already, but she says it’s because she had a year to study ahead. I wish my memory was half as good as hers.

We have Charms and Herbology tomorrow, but I’m really looking forward to double Potions with Slytherin on Friday. Professor Snape said it used to be Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, which I’d prefer, but he insisted on separating Slytherin and Gryffindor this year. I feel really good about my Potions work. I’m a little nervous about Transfiguration and Defence on Tuesday, so wish me luck.

Mimi doesn’t like the new Defence Professor. He used to teach Muggle Studies, and Dora says he’s changed a lot over the summer – she reckons he might be sick or cursed. Mimi wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong with him. She was pretty upset, so if I notice anything weird about him, I’m telling Severus right away. I mean Professor Snape.

Mimi really wants to meet a ghost and it’s almost curfew, so I’ll write again tomorrow. We both miss you.

Love,

Harry

P.S. Hermione found a duplication spell so I can send this letter to Sirius and Kingsley, too! Mimi says “hi, Padfoot!” and I wanted to add that I’m excited to be in Kingsley and Reina’s old House (and Minister Bagnold’s too). I’d love to be a Healer or an Auror. Does the Auror Department have its own Healers? They really should, right? Love – HJPB

P.P.S. You were right, Mum – Malfoy is a grade-A prat. I feel a bit sorry for him, but Mimi doesn’t.

 

###

 

Letter III

1 September 1991

Dear Mum and Dad,

I’m in Ravenclaw! There’s an incredible House library, mentors for first- and second-year students (I’m with Penelope Clearwater, another Muggle-born student), and our dorm is in a tower with a lovely view of the mountains. There are six other Ravenclaw girls in my year and we’re the biggest group. There don’t seem to be many magical children – Hogwarts is smaller than the most exclusive public school – but no one really wants to talk about why. From my reading, I would guess it’s the result of past wars plus a tendency toward only children, plus self-limiting mate selection by the ruling class. They should read Muggle history to see how that turns out.

Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin are best friends, and Padma Patil has a twin in Gryffindor, and the other two are Isobel Macdougal and Sue Li. The last is Daphne Greengrass. I love her name, don’t you? Like a Dickens heroine. Daphne and I chose beds that share the same window, and she promised to teach me some charms to manage my hair. (I can hear you now, Mum, and I know – but we _have_ got magic!)

I met Daphne on the train, along with a boy named Harry Potter-Black who’s kind of a celebrity. But he’s not stuck on himself at all, and we sat together last night at the Welcoming Feast and again today for all our meals. I love having people to sit with. They’re both very intelligent as well. Harry has an interesting familiar (a witch or wizard’s pet companion, although his familiar isn’t really a pet), and I think I’d like one, too – maybe a cat or an owl? We could visit Diagon Alley before Christmas.

I’ll write again tomorrow. I love you both so much and I miss you, but please don’t worry about me. I’m doing my best to adapt.

Much love,

Hermione

P.S. Daphne advised me to get my teeth fixed using magic, and I took her advice. If you want to yell at me, please keep in mind that it’s over and done with.

 

###

 

Letter IV

4 September 1991 (Wednesday)

Mum and Dad,

I assume Harry’s fitting in all right, since he hasn’t rushed to see me. I’m sure he’s already told you that he sorted Ravenclaw. I was really hoping to see him in Hufflepuff! I’m surprised he isn’t, to be perfectly honest. He’s already got two little friends, both girls that he met on the train. They sorted Ravenclaw, too, so they’re birds of a feather (dad joke!).

The first-year crop is not very promising. The Smith kid is a real snot, lording it over everyone because he’s a great-grand-whatever of Helga Hufflepuff. All the other ’Puffs want to kick him. Even Sprout gets this sort of stopped-up look on her face whenever he opens his mouth.

The Longbottom heir sorted Hufflepuff, too, and any other year I’d say that was great. But Smith’s already been sat down twice (and it’s only the second day) because he keeps taunting poor Neville about every little thing. I’m kind of hoping that maybe Harry will make friends with him. Weren’t Harry’s birth parents and Neville’s parents friends? I know they were Aurors with James, right? Mad-Eye’s got a picture of them.

Anyway, I’m getting a head start on my Potions homework. (Need that NEWT!) Love you both and I promise to write again soon!

TONKS

 

###

 

Letter V

Friday, 6 September

Dear Mum and Dad,

So we had double Potions with the Slytherins today. Professor Snape didn’t seem “absolutely terrifying” to me, but Hermione assured me that he was. She thinks he’s brilliant anyway, but so do all the Ravenclaws because of what he did to Malfoy. I’ve never seen him so angry.

Malfoy leaned out of his seat (while Severus was talking) and said something to Hermione. She told me later that he said the M-word, but I couldn’t hear it. Professor Snape did though and he went ballistic. Malfoy lost fifty points for Slytherin and when we went to supper we saw it wiped out their whole hourglass. The older Slytherins were giving him such a hard time that he left the Great Hall.

Hermione says maybe he’ll leave her alone now, but Daphne and I both know that’s not likely. He already tattled to his father about Mimi, and Dumbledore called me to his office last night so we could talk it over. He was actually really decent about the whole thing. The only rules are that Mimi has to be invisible in public areas and can’t frighten any students on school grounds. It’s just the same as if a student had a Boggart for a familiar, Dumbledore said. (That happened once five hundred years ago!) She’s permitted under the Exotic Magical Familiars clause as long as she doesn’t cause “undue harm or distress” within the castle. He really emphasised “within the castle” and “on school grounds,” so if we run into Malfoy in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, that racist berk had better watch his mouth.

Anyway, we’re all reviewing first-year Defence spells in case Malfoy tries anything. Dora suggested we invite Neville Longbottom, since he doesn’t know any, so he’s joining us for practise tonight.

Love,

Harry  

 

###

 

Letter VI

(no date indicated – received at The Burrow on Monday, 9 September)

Dear Mum and Dad,

I’m really trying but Harry Potter just won’t make friends. There are only two other Gryffindor guys this year and two girls so it’s a bit lonely. The good’s really food, though.

love,

Ron

 

###

 

Letter VII

Saturday, 7 September, 1991

Dear Grandmother:

Since my last letter, I’m pleased to write that I’ve made friends. I also have some bad news.

Harry Potter invited me to practise with him and two other Ravenclaws, Daphne Greengrass and Hermione Granger. We were all trying _Petrificus Totalus_ on a target (Hermione enchanted it, she’s really clever) and I had a bit of a backfire with lots of yellow sparks. Then all of a sudden my wand – I mean Dad’s wand – just split in two. I have no idea what happened, I swear. Harry saw how upset I was and told me he’d used an ancestral wand at home, but when he started Hogwarts he got a wand that chose him and it was a far better match. I saved the pieces, but they won’t fit back together and I need to go to Ollivander’s for a new wand. If you could take me on Sunday, I’ve already gotten permission from Professor Sprout to leave school grounds.

I’m so sorry Dad’s wand broke. I know how much it meant to you.

Your loving grandson,

Neville

 

###

 

Letter VIII

10 September 1991

My esteemed Nicolas,

Once again, your counsel has proved invaluable. I agree that pinning down Tom Riddle’s location, at long last, is worth the risk. The danger to the Boy-Who-Lived is mitigated by his protective familiar, and he is accompanied to classes and meals by at least two friends. Severus is aware of the situation, but I’ve had to keep the other members of staff in the dark. None of them excel at concealing their emotions, especially Minerva.

As you know, Tom began possessing our Muggle Studies professor during the summer holiday. (I discovered this sad fact as the result of a basic safety precaution: Prior to the start of term, every new Defence Professor is required to put on the Sorting Hat, thus proving his or her identity and the absence of a second consciousness. The position has been cursed for decades, and after numerous frauds and imposters, plus three known spirit possessions, naturally our security countermeasures have increased. The Hat most wisely did not alert Tom that his presence was detected, but informed me, in so many words, that the Riddle kid’s spirit was slouching around inside Quirrell’s tortured noggin.)

I’m glad that you concur with my belief that he possessed poor Quirinus in order to reach Harry Potter. I believe, at this time, that he is simply curious about the boy, and may wish to see if there is any chance of alliance (ending in betrayal and backstabbing, naturally). I am monitoring the situation.

Since my original plan to keep Tom at Hogwarts was (most wisely) shot down by yourself and Perenelle, I appreciate your assistance in formulating a new one. He will have to resort to unicorn blood eventually, if he wishes to stay in the same body, and that will buy us some time. Severus is working on a potion for that purpose, but he informs me that the colour and texture of unicorn blood is quite difficult to imitate. I’ve passed along your suggestion on the use of quicksilver during the cooling process.

Finally, my sincerest thanks for your notes on resurrection rituals. The one requiring bone, blood, and flesh was known to me – Minerva and I secured the senior Riddle’s grave ten years ago, replacing the remains with some rather ingeniously transfigured Muggle candy – but the other (requiring the heart of a kraken) was new and unsettling. I have tripled the wards of protection on the Giant Squid.

I remain

your friend and sometime collaborator,

Albus Dumbledore

 

###

 

Letter IX

13 September 1991

Friday

My dearest son,

Your father wishes me to tell you that his efforts have not yet proved successful, and that the Potter boy’s familiar is likely to remain at Hogwarts. We have, however, won a small concession, and this leads me to the subject of my letter.

From what you’ve written in our personal correspondence, the creature sounds like a Boggart. They are not dangerous, and what they show is only an illusion (although I’m still horrified that you were exposed to it, darling, and if I ever see Harry Potter or his cursed familiar, I shall make my feelings unmistakably clear.) It’s a travesty that the Chosen One is allowed to terrorize his fellow students, but unless his _Mimi_ poses a real threat to others, he is perfectly within his rights. Your father attempted to argue that each student was allowed a single familiar, and Dumbledore admitted that Potter was granted special permission to bring an owl as well as his Boggart. At your father’s insistence, any student who petitions the Headmaster or the Board may receive the same concession. We have already done so on your behalf.

I refuse to be overshadowed by my sister’s adopted half-blood brat, usurper of the Black family line, and to that end I am sending your new familiar. Artemis should deliver this letter at breakfast; please be prepared to receive a package at dinner.

All my love,

Mummy

 

###

 

Letter X

13 September 1991 

Dear Mum and Dad,

You will never believe what happened at dinner tonight.

As requested, I’ve kept a close watch on Malfoy. (You know my opinion of him as a match for Astoria, so I shan’t harp on it.) At dinner, his eagle owl brought in a huge crate with air holes. He opened it right at the Slytherin table, with everyone watching.

His mother sent him an extra-fancy familiar. It’s feline, but nothing like a Kneazle! Its fur is silver-grey, and it walks on its hind legs like a werewolf. (Is there such a thing as a werecat? Not a tiger or a panther, just a regular cat?) Malfoy said, very loudly, that it was specially bred to walk upright and wasn’t strange at all, and then he started boasting about the Galleon on its head. The cat seemed to like that and started preening, showing off its gold charm, and then Goyle sneezed mashed potatoes out his nose. Well, some of the … spray … got on the Galleon charm and the cat scratched him right in the face!

So Goyle was bleeding everywhere and Madame Pomfrey had to Floo him to St. Mungo’s, and Professor Kettleburn tried wrangling the cat into a special bag and also got scratched (luckily on his wooden arm), and Malfoy was screaming that his father would hear about this, and the last thing the cat did before Professor Kettleburn closed the bag was (somehow) toss a bunch of Galleons right on the floor. There was absolute pandemonium. People rushed for the gold, and at least half of Slytherin ended up with bumps and bruises. One of the Ravenclaw fifth-years showed us the Galleon she picked up, and it’s just an ordinary goblin-made coin. No one knows where the cat was hiding them or why it threw coins in the first place. Perhaps some manner of magical defence?

Anyway, the Headmaster and Professor Snape calmed everyone down. Professor Snape took his House back to their common room for healing potions, and the Headmaster spoke to everyone about showing respect to magical familiars. He looked very solemn, but he had to stop twice and we all knew he was trying not to laugh.

Harry is concerned that Malfoy has a magical familiar that no one has ever seen before. (I told you about Harry’s familiar, a magical species that no one has ever seen before.) He thinks Malfoy is somehow plotting to make their familiars fight or something. He’s writing to a friend of his, Luna Lovegood, to see if she can tell us anything about this frankly bizarre feline species. Her father wrote _Myth Made Real: Magical Species Unveiled,_ and he may have encountered it during his travels. I will let you know, as I’m sure Astoria is as curious as I am. It’s not every day that you see a new magical species wreak havoc at the dinner table!

Much love,

Daphne

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love fix-its, but Hogwarts was made for conflict.
> 
> For those not familiar with Pokemon, Malfoy's new familiar is an Alolan Meowth - known for vicious scratches, a signature move that spouts coins, and (of course) pride and vanity. Bred as pets for Alolan royalty, this form of Meowth seemed like a perfect familiar for Draco. (Bonus: Mimikyu loves tormenting a regular Meowth in the most recent TV series, Sun & Moon. I'm not using that incarnation of Mimikyu for my fic, as it's pretty dark, but it did seal the idea of an Alolan Meowth as an appropriate Pokemon foil.)
> 
> My work schedule is intense this time of year, plus I have my children at home during the summer. I'll post whenever possible, just not weekly as I'd hoped. I hope you all can bear with me, but if you want to wait and come back in the fall, I won't blame you :) As always, thank you for reading - I treasure every comment, kudo and bookmark.


	10. And Now, Draco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sulking over his confiscated familiar, Draco encounters more than one unexpected conflict.

"—a lucky feline, Blaise, I've told you already. She's an ancient magical species – _maneki-neko_ , Japanese, very rare, and if Dumbledore harms a hair on her head –"

"You'll what, Draco? Challenge him to a duel?"

"My father –"

"No one cares," Theo Nott said flatly. "You sound ridiculous. No one cares about your blasted familiar."

"Speak for yourself," said Millie Bulstrode. "If my Mitzi flung out coins like a bloody leprechaun I'd never let her out of my sight. Ten Galleons says you never see that cat again."

"D'you think it's just full of gold?" asked Marcus Flint. "If you cut it open –"

"You'd have a fistful of catgut and no more coins," Millie told him. "And your head on a pike, once I caught you. I wonder if you can breed them with Kneazles … maybe get a cross that spits up Sickles …"

Draco tried not to react. His father would have sneered regally; his mother would have smiled and plotted. He concentrated on seeming above it all.

"You look about to vomit," Pansy observed, taking a perfectly crescent-shaped bite of her omelet.

"Because I'm looking at your face, Pans," he snapped.

It came out harsher than he'd intended. Pansy didn't react, but Theo glared daggers across the table.

"Well, this has been fun," said Tracey Davis, standing gracefully. "Draco, they moved Gregory back from St. Mungo's last night, but he's under observation all day. Don't forgot to drop by."

"You're not my mum, Davis."

"No, but I am the only one who thought to visit the infirmary first thing this morning. Gregory wondered when you might be stopping in to apologise. Kept cracking his knuckles for some reason. Crabbe's up there now, or didn't you notice he was gone?"

With a sinking feeling, Draco estimated the damage control required if he didn't want to find himself utterly alone – or even more utterly alone, since Crabbe and Goyle weren't exactly good company. Crabbe, in particular, seemed to have grown duller over the years …

His heart just wasn't in it.

Instead of scuttling off to the infirmary, Draco went to the library. He found a comfortable chair tucked way back in the Magical Creatures section. It was Saturday morning, so the place was deserted except for a few hopeless Ravenclaws.

He reread the next two Potions chapters – part of a somewhat panicked scheme to get back into Snape's good graces – and was just reviewing safety tips when a revoltingly self-assured voice filtered through the stacks.

"Mi, stop that! This book is terribly old, and you're getting dust all over – oh, those? They're called kelpies – water spirits. Some people say –"

Madam Pince shushed her loudly. The next thing Draco heard were impatient steps. They were far too close for comfort, but it was too late to move without being spotted.

"Come on," Hermione Granger muttered. "That crabby old … this should do."

Draco jumped as a stack of books thudded onto a nearby table. All he could see from his alcove was the line of Granger's right arm, and she couldn't see him at all. He could land a Perpetual Tickling Charm from here, or perhaps a Humerus Hex …

"I think there's a kelpie in Loch Ness, but that's well north of us. Oh, here's what I wanted: 'Of the freshwater kraken species, the rarest specimen may be found in the Black Lake at Hogwarts, nestled in the Scottish Highlands …' Honestly, Mi, why call it a Giant Squid if it's a kraken?"

Unless Granger referred to herself as "Me" – some form of bloodborne insanity, no doubt – Draco didn't know whom she could be addressing. It was a stupid nickname, most un-Wizarding, and he knew all the Mud – Muggle-borns at Hogwarts. (Damn Severus Snape! Why did the man care so much? He'd have to ask Father.) It would never do to speak to one accidentally, or to sit beside one – unknowingly, of course – in class or during a Quidditch match.

Of course, Draco was sitting very near one now. His right ankle tingled unpleasantly, and he wondered if he could shift without alerting Granger. If she turned, he could always pretend to be asleep. His foot was there already.

There was a faint rustling sound.

"D'you want out from under there, Mimi? There's no one here but us. It's a Saturday morning, after all."

Mimi. Potter's familiar was in the library. Granger chattered on: "You'll like this bit – our kraken is female! Her name is Cruella, and she's believed to have hidden powers … but how would anyone know, if they're hidden?"

Draco closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing … he was calm, glacial, totally in control … he was not picturing his father's bloodshot eyes beseeching him, his beloved son, to save them all, even though he was only eleven, he was just a child, and he'd never seen his father look like this: a wretched, beaten thing, a man jumping at the faintest shadows …

"I told you, there's no one here – where are you going? Mimi, stay close, you know what Harry said!"

_Kill it._

The thought came to Draco unbidden; it seemed to float in, like the ghost of someone else's bright idea.

He could try … Potter would be devastated, that smug expression pinched out like a candle flame, and surely that was reason enough.

Draco realised that he'd already drawn his wand. His hand and arm felt disconnected, autonomous, as did his thoughts; they floated away as he tried to grasp them.

Granger was still chattering, the creature hovered just out of sight, and so all that remained was to stand and cast – what?

 _Lumos Maxima should do it … but first summon its cloak, the cloak protects it, the cloak and the beast protect_ Potter –

The name was spat out, filled with desperate hatred. The emotion was clear and cold, so cold it burned, and the mist in Draco's head seemed to clear.

Attack a powerful Dark creature that was, for whatever mad reason, under Dumbledore's protection? The thought was Gryffindor-stupid. He had the advantage of surprise, but they were in the middle of the Hogwarts library. He'd be caught for sure, maybe even expelled. Besides, no matter how Draco felt about him personally, Potter was a member of his mother's family. No one thirsted for vengeance quite like a Black …

_Kill it now. Summoning Charm first, then Lumos Maxima. Quickly!_

_I don't know the Summoning Charm_ , he thought furiously. _You'd know that if you were me, now GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_

Draco slammed up an imaginary wall of thorns and poisonous roses. His mother had hired an Occlumency tutor years ago, and although his defences were too weak to block Snape or (Merlin forbid) Dumbledore, they just might hold up against a malevolent ghost.

There was a crawling compulsion, a feeling of _wrongness_ , and the wall of thorns was torn apart. Draco snarled soundlessly.

 _I said get out! I am a_ Malfoy _, and when my father hears about this –_

_Idiot boy! Spineless, useless Lucius spawn! If you will not obey – Imperio!_

Draco flung himself to the floor, banging both kneecaps. A yellow, sickly-looking spell splashed against the chair and dissipated. He heard Granger's startled gasp and rolled over, scrabbling for his wand, as the air turned cold around him.

When Draco looked up, he saw Granger. Her teeth were bared and she was aiming her vinewood wand at the ghost looming just over his head.

It was the Bloody Baron. Draco had a confused moment – the Baron's voice was rough and low, much lower than the murderous spirit's, and no House ghost could harm a student –

"Begone, twisted creature," the Baron thundered, staring in Granger's direction. She squeaked (and looked deeply offended), but her wand stayed steady.

"Leave Malfoy alone," she ordered. "I'll sic Mimi on you! I'm warning you – I'll tell Professor Dumbledore!"

Something rustled eerily in the stacks – not behind Draco's chair, but to Granger's right. Draco saw a flash of white as something moved behind a shelf, and then the noise was gone.

"Flee for now, coward," the Baron spat. "The Headmaster will most assuredly hear of this!"

The ghost of Slytherin House floated away, brushing so close to Granger that she shivered. He said something to her in a sepulchral tone, so low that Draco couldn't hear.

"I'm a Ravenclaw," she said, very indignant, and the Baron gave a chilling laugh. He patted Potter's horrid familiar on the head and then vanished – reappearing, Draco assumed, in the Headmaster's office.

Granger stared at him.

"Do you need –" she started, and was cut off by Madam Pince.

"Out," the librarian hissed. Her voice, magically amplified, rose around them like a poisonous gas. "Noise – ghosts – get out, out, out!"

Granger abandoned her book and left at speed, Mimi in her bag and Draco at her heels. Not because he was afraid of Pince, but because there was only one door to the library.

"What happened in there, Malfoy?"

"Something got inside my head," he answered grimly. "I thought it was a ghost, but it might have been Legilimency."

"What's Legilimency?"

Draco sneered, but it didn't sit exactly right. He pictured Granger's face as she'd threatened the Bloody Baron. She was only a Mud – blast it, a Muggle-born. He wasn't supposed to feel grateful. She'd done him a service, that was all. That was as it should be.

But he couldn't help admiring her spirit. The Baron's aura of mingled grief and menace, not to mention the blood all down his front, was unnerving even for the Slytherins he was sworn to protect. A year ago, at most, Granger had been little more than a Muggle. (He sneered again, reflexively.) She hadn't even known that ghosts were real. Seen in that light, she'd been really rather brave. Entirely on his behalf, too.

"It's the art of magically observing another person's thoughts," he replied. "Not mind-reading, exactly, but close enough. Dumbledore and the Dark Lord are both Legilimens. So's Professor Snape."

"They can read people's thoughts?" Her nose wrinkled. "That's incredibly invasive! Aren't there laws against it?"

"If you're powerful enough to do it, you're pretty much above the law," Draco said. "That's how the world works, Granger."

"Unjust," she muttered. "So it had to be a wizard? Ghosts can't read minds, can they?"

"Not that I know of," Draco said, slightly disturbed. "They definitely can't cast the Imperius curse."

"That's what it was," she gasped, stopping dead. "One of the Unforgivables! Would you have been forced to obey?"

"Probably," he said, trying to sound unconcerned. "Not many people can resist it, especially from a powerful caster."

"What was it telling you to do?"

He chanced a look at her bag. The Dark creature had burrowed inside, just the top of its covered head showing. He could see the first slashing stroke of _Sowilo_ , the rune symbolising light's victory over darkness. It appeared to be drawn in blood.

He had the queer sensation of time slowing down, giving him room to consider.

One Draco Malfoy turned on his heel and walked away. He wrote to his father and undermined Potter at every turn. He forgot all about the acid-midnight voice in his head, or tried to, until he was forced to remember. He saw Hermione Granger tortured and mutilated in his family home, saw men writhe under his own curses, saw his father's face and knew he might have prevented this future, had he gone down a different path.

The other Draco Malfoy made his choice.

"It wanted me to attack Potter's familiar," Draco said quietly. He felt rather brave and important, and if his head was still spinning a bit, that was only to be expected. It had been a very strange morning. "The cloak protects it and Potter both, the voice said, and that beast protects Potter."

"Her name is Mimikyu," Granger said sharply. "You can call her by her full name, if you want. Mimi's just a nickname. And, well, I call her 'Mi' sometimes."

It was even more stupidly Muggle to shorten a nickname, but Draco refrained from comment. He was trying to channel his mother's diplomacy instead of his father's … inflexibility.

"That cloth she's wearing is imbued with protective spells," he informed Granger. "I can see the rune on her head – it's a bit crude, but certainly effective. There must be more subtle elements. Layered shield charms, enchanted thread woven through, maybe hexes triggered by –"

He was struck by a sudden realisation. "That cloth ... it looks like a House Elf's rag, but was it a baby blanket?"

"Yes," she said, surprised. "It was Harry's. How did you guess?"

"Do you have _any idea_ how baby blankets work?"

Before she could reply (blisteringly), Draco huffed. "Of course you don't know, your parents are Muggles. Stupid question on my part."

Granger seemed momentarily stunned, so he forgave her failure to accept his implied apology.

"Pureblood families always gift new babies with a blanket," he continued. "The most talented members of the family do the enchantments – spells so it's never lost, spells to help the baby sleep, maybe spells for self-cleaning or self-warming. There's always a spell of protection, usually more than one. Maybe Potter's grandparents bespelled it for him, or his godfather – I know the Blacks follow that tradition. My mother enchanted mine. It's under my pillow to scare away nightmares. Ask Greengrass if you don't believe me."

"So they're kind of like dreamcatchers, or good-luck charms?"

He was surprised into laughing. "They're kind of like body armour, Granger. My father says that's why the house blew up – an incredibly strong physical shield meeting the Dark Lord's Killing Curse. But it can't have been the blanket, since it wasn't destroyed."

"Did the voice tell you what would happen?" Granger asked urgently. "After you took Mimi's cloak, I mean. Did it tell you?"

"It said to cast _Lumos Maxima_ –"

"I mean, did it say what would happen to you?"

He shook his head.

"Just a glimpse of Mimikyu's true form can harm a wizard. A Muggle could die on the spot. That's why she's always under the … why she's always invisible, so the students are safe."

Draco stopped. Granger didn't notice and kept rattling on.

"Maybe that's why it tried to _Imperius_ a student. That way it could observe how badly you were affected, and then if you died – oh, look out!"

A suit of armor clattered apart just ahead of them. Draco felt a bit lightheaded. He'd been so angry that he lost control of his magic. Right in front of a girl, too.

And he still hadn't been to see Greg. Between that, a visit to the Headmaster's office, his poor lost familiar, and having his mind invaded, it was shaping up to be a trying day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I began work on this chapter six weeks ago, and ironed out several plotlines and story "rules" in the interim. One reviewer (on ff.net) asked where the Malfoys could possibly have acquired an Alolan Meowth. While I hadn't quite settled on the story rules earlier, here they are now: Any Pokémon that appear will "belong" in the HP universe because they've been hybridized with ancient mythical creatures and/or canonical HP creatures. At least one, the Giant Squid/Kraken/Tentacruel, has been adapted from both Pokémon and HP canon, as well as ancient legend. While not officially confirmed, canonical Meowth is believed to have been inspired by the Japanese lucky cat. J.K. Rowling and Satoshi Tajiri both borrowed from "real" mythologies to populate their own, and I'm hybridizing the two 'verses in the same spirit. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I truly appreciate your thoughts and reviews. I hope (and plan) to return to a more regular updating schedule when school begins in September!


	11. Added Scene: Ollivanders and the Holly Wand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Added scene to clarify Harry's wand ownership. The Tonks family visits Ollivanders, finds a wand, and learns something about a young Voldemort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following is a previously omitted scene between chapters 6 and 7. It's meant to bridge the gap between Harry using Dorea Black’s applewood-and-dragon-heartstring wand and Harry going to Hogwarts with his canonical holly-and-phoenix-feather wand. For plot reasons, Harry needs to end up with his holly wand, instead of just keeping Dorea’s. However, I glossed over his actually buying/matching with the holly wand in a way that several readers found confusing. As a personal writing rule, I feel that if one person doesn’t catch your drift, he or she has a reading problem; if several people don’t follow, you have a writing problem. Exceptions apply, of course, but I think it’s true in this case.
> 
> So the problem is that I skipped over an important point, and this chapter is meant to fix it (and write a whole scene, as things turned out). A few lines and phrases, mostly Ollivander's, are borrowed from canon (Philosopher's Stone). Thank you to the readers who let me know in a constructive way that I needed to come back to this, especially yukicrewger2 on ff dot net.

Harry didn’t want to replace his wand.

Dorea Potter’s wand, really, but after three years spent learning and practising magic, Harry felt real grief at the thought of parting from it.

“There’s a reason Hogwarts students begin at eleven,” Andromeda told him (more than once). “You’ll experience a surge of magic as you enter puberty, and you need a wand that suits. My great-aunt’s has served you well, up to now, but I promise you that will change.”

Ted Tonks, who shared the gift of natural optimism with his daughter, was also blessed with a healer’s sense of caution. At his suggestion, the Tonks family set out for Diagon Alley at seven o’clock on the Monday morning following Harry’s birthday.

The alley was all but deserted, and by the time Ollivanders opened at half-past ten, Harry and Dora had purchased everything on their Hogwarts lists. Harry had not been trampled by fans, harmed by enemies, or sneered at by Malfoys, and Ted allowed his guard to lower slightly.

Andromeda did not.

“Please conduct yourself as speedily as possible,” she ordered Garrick Ollivander. “We wish to conclude our business in the Alley no later than midday. And blink, for Merlin’s sake. You look like an owl gone wrong.”

Ollivander blinked, looking very much like an owl gone wrong.

Dora chose that moment to sneeze – the shop languished undusted, possibly since 382 B.C. – and the wandmaker returned his attention to Harry.

“Harry Potter-Black,” Ollivander murmured, seeming to regain confidence. “Family wand, applewood and dragon heartstring … but you’ve grown, yes, and a new wand is in order. Pardon the tape measure …”

 Harry wondered, as the tape measure snapped and whirred, how in the world Ollivander could possibly choose the best wand out of thousands for every customer. The narrow boxes, stacked nearly to the ceiling, were mostly alike so far as he could tell. Some had sat for so long the dust furred along their edges.

“We’ll start with applewood, since I believe your previous wand served you well, yes? Applewood and unicorn hair, ten inches, very whippy … no, that won’t do.”

They ran through a dozen applewood wands before Ollivander shook his head.

“Let’s try a few with dragon heartstring … thank you, Miss Tonks, please let me handle any and all _Aguamenti_ Charms, though I do appreciate your quick reflexes.”

Harry set two more small fires, the last with purple flames.

Ollivander seemed to enjoy the challenge, pulling wands down and discarding them almost immediately. “Tricky customer, yes, we need something rather special … no, not that … but I wonder …”

He glanced toward Andromeda. “I may have the wand for you, Mr. Potter-Black. Now, where was it … ah. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Harry took the wand. The strangest sensation flowed through his right arm. In an instant, he understood why his mother had insisted on finding a wand that chose him.

He waved the wand and a lightning bolt sizzled from its end. It struck almost straight down, printing a long jagged burn across the floorboards.

“How very interesting,” Ollivander said – much too calmly, in Harry’s opinion, but then he’d probably seen stranger things.

“What’s interesting?” Ted asked. He sounded amiable, but something in his face made Ollivander answer without delay.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. I was born to this work, Mr. Tonks, and I know my stock past and present like the notes of a single song. That wand, the wand that chose your son so boldly I’m surprised my shop is still standing, is twin to the Dark Lord’s. A fraternal twin, if you will. Its core comes from the same phoenix, a bird that gave two feathers.

“Thirteen and a half inches, yew. Yew and holly, yes … and phoenix, too, we mustn’t forget that. Death and decay, death and rebirth … hmm …”

He blinked, glancing again at Andromeda, and fell silent.

“What happened when You-Know-Who picked it up?” Harry asked suddenly. “Did he make lightning, too?”

Ollivander shook his head. “His wand bled,” he replied. “Great crimson drops, all over the floor. Even after my father sanded the boards, the stain crept back. We finally just replaced them …”

He glanced down at the lightning-shaped burn. “With those boards, if I’m not mistaken. Ah, well. These things happen for a reason …”

His parents paid seven Galleons for the holly wand. Harry wondered very much how any shop that sold a single seven-Galleon unit per person, of an item that lasted for years (if not for a lifetime), could possibly afford to stay in business.

Hoping to distract his parents, who looked quite stunned, Harry asked how Ollivander could possibly afford rent and materials to make the wands.

“They’ve been in business nearly two and a half millennia,” Ted replied. “Prices used to be far higher. Very frugal family, the Ollivanders.”

“As if you couldn’t tell that from the premises,” Andromeda said. “I suppose we ought to pay for his floorboards.”

“I offered,” Ted replied, sounding amused. “You lot were already out the door. He turned me down, said he’d leave it like that for awhile. ‘To mark this momentous – nay, this historic occasion.’”

Dora snorted at that, and the tension lifted.

As they walked toward the Leaky Cauldron, Harry felt the cheery warmth of his new wand, even through his robes. (How he knew it was cheery and not, say, about to spew lightning at any second, Harry couldn’t have said. It just felt different, and the feeling was unmistakably cheery.) Dora’s resolve to keep back his birthday present until after his Sorting had lasted all of two days. It was a wand holster, striped yellow and black, that strapped securely to his forearm and was Charmed weightless, as well as anti-odor and non-chafing. Very similar to Auror-issue holsters, his sister informed him, which were not available to the general public.

“I’d meant to charm it in your House colours,” she’d said, not very contritely, “but Mimi is yellow and black too, sort of. So if you don’t end up in Hufflepuff, they’re still good. Personally meaningful and all that rot.”

His old wand, Dorea’s wand, was in the holster now. As the holly wand glowed contentedly against his chest, the applewood wand gave off a gentle warmth – familiar and comforting – against his forearm.


	12. By the Shore of the Black Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione brief the Headmaster. Trouble brews by the lake, but there are two Pokémon to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for the delay - I was stunned to realize how much time had passed. I have a much better idea of the story's direction and a less congested work schedule. I can't promise weekly updates, but I can say confidently that it won't be four months between posts again. I imagine the story is about halfway complete, but that may change.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me, and especially for your kind reviews. I treasure each one.

Hermione tried to slow down – Draco was several inches shorter and had to perform an awkward sort of skip every few steps to keep up – but she could feel Mimi’s agitation and wasn’t exactly calm herself.

“Do you know where we’re going?” she gasped.

“Headmaster’s Tower,” Draco replied shortly. “Didn’t McGonagall give you a tour? Kitchens, infirmary, other places of import?”

“No! Why would she?”

“Gryffindors,” he muttered.

"I'm a Ravenclaw, thank you very much!"

They passed only a few students, all of whom scrambled out of their way. Draco had to admit that if he saw a wild-eyed, gorgon-haired Granger striding toward him, he too would run like a rabbit.

Finally, they reached a gargoyle guarding a wooden door.

“There’s a password,” Draco said, trying not to pant. “It’s always some sort of sweet, Father told me.”

“Like Jelly Babies?”

“… I knew it,” he said, feeling a bit sick. “Muggles really do eat babies?”

“No, it’s a kind of sweet!”

“Babies. Are a kind of sweet.”

“No – argh, I don’t have time for this! Jelly Babies, Licorice All-sorts, pear drops, Smarties, wine gums –”

The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing a moving circular staircase. Draco hopped on without hesitating and Hermione followed.

The staircase deposited them in front of double doors made of some heavy pale wood – oak, Hermione thought, very much in keeping with a medieval stronghold. When Draco reached up to knock, both doors swung open.

Dumbledore was seated at a massive, claw-footed desk, surrounded by silvery instruments whirring away and giving off puffs of smoke. A brightly coloured phoenix stood on a tall perch, head tucked beneath one wing. Its flowing tail was made of shifting flames, and even its wings seemed to burn.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy,” the Headmaster said. “Do come in. Mind the licorice snaps, they’re a tad irritable this morning.”

“Sir, we’re so sorry to bother you,” Hermione began, “but the Bloody Baron told us to come up straight away and tell you – someone in the library tried to cast the Imperius Curse on Malfoy, but the Baron scared him off, and he – the person we couldn’t see, sir, not the Baron – he told Malfoy to steal Mimikyu’s blanket, sir, Harry’s familiar, so he could attack –”

Draco interrupted. “Speaking of familiars, Headmaster Dumbledore, I can’t help but notice that mine appears to be napping on your desk.”

The cat was sprawled beneath a silver instrument shaped like a spinning umbrella. At Draco’s furious words, she stretched languidly and opened one eye.

The old wizard smiled at her fondly. “The Baron was just here, Miss Granger, and I sent him off straightaway on another mission. He did tell me that an unseen witch or wizard, not a roaming spirit and almost certainly not another student, attempted to curse Mr. Malfoy in the library. To answer your question, Mr. Malfoy, Sayako is welcome to return to your care any time she wishes.”

“Her name is Meowth,” Draco said, still in that brittle voice. Granger snorted.

“I believe that is an alternate name for her species, but as we do not answer to ‘Human,’ so too does she prefer her given name,” Dumbledore replied. “Professor McGonagall has had several pleasant chats with Sayako, and she’s agreed to a few Hogwarts rules. No scratching except in self-defence, no dispensing of precious metals in public areas, use of an auto-vanish litterbox, and the donning of a small bell to warn other familiars of her presence. Minerva kindly transfigured one, as you see.”

The bell was studded with pasted-on emeralds. Sayako probably loved the hideous thing.

“As your familiar is now in compliance with school regulations, Mr. Malfoy, you may take her with you when you leave.”

Draco nodded stiffly. Sayako ignored him in favour of cleaning her toes.

“Sir, what can we do to help? Someone’s cursing students and he’s still in the castle!”

“We can wait for the Baron to return, Miss Granger. Once I’ve heard his report – ah, here he is now.”

A cold breeze lifted the hair on the back of Draco’s neck. The Baron swooped down, ignoring both children, and addressed the Headmaster.

“I abhor sunlight,” the Baron announced. “The Potter boy is lounging by the Black Lake with the Greengrass girl.”  

“Where is Professor Quirrell?” Dumbledore asked calmly.

“Gone,” the Baron spat. “Or exceedingly well-hidden. Professor Snape was in the staff room and asked my business there. I imagine we shall see him very soon.”

Draco put a hand over his face.

“Maybe we should go back to our common rooms, sir?” Granger suggested.

“Professor Snape is Professor Quirrell’s teaching mentor,” Dumbledore explained. “If he’s succumbed to a hostile spirit, Severus will want to know … ah, here he is.”

The fire flared green, and Professor Snape stepped through. Granger let out a startled squeak, and Mimi put her head up to investigate.

“I told you, Albus! Why in God’s name would you sacrifice an established Hogwarts teacher to a curse that never fails? Bring in an Auror, I said! Make it a one-year appointment! Bloody stubborn old –”

“Ah, Professor Snape! As I was telling Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, I knew you’d insist on hearing their account firsthand.”

Snape glared at Draco. Granger huddled a little closer, and he considered her durability as a human shield.

“Tell me,” Snape ordered, and the children went over it all again.

When they’d finished, he closed his eyes briefly. “So he knows about Harry’s familiar.”

“Her name is –”

“I know her blasted name!” he snapped, and Granger shut up. “This is a problem, Headmaster. I’d hoped, perhaps, that she would be … an unknown factor.”

“As did I, Severus.”

“I can vouch for the exorcist in Knockturn Alley,” Snape said. “If we bring Quirrell to her, she can expel his unwelcome guest. Griselda may not be able to bind the spirit, but we can save an innocent life.”

“Travel from here,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll keep the Floo open. And Severus, make haste.”

“Wait,” Snape said, staring at Granger. “Mimi is with you?”

Potter’s familiar rose from the bookbag. Her dress was splotched with ink from one of Granger’s quills.

“How good to see you again, Mimikyu,” Dumbledore said politely.

“You’ve met her?” Granger exclaimed.

“Why yes, last Thursday –”

“Never mind that, Albus.” Professor Snape’s face had gone horribly pale. “If his familiar is here with Miss Granger, and Quirrell knows it –”

“Harry,” Granger said. “Oh my god, he’s gone after Harry!”

***

The doorknocker posed a challenge.

“When is a Ravenclaw like a writing desk?” the eagle repeated patiently.

 “When she’s been stabbed to death by a jealous suitor.”

The eagle was unamused. “Bugger off.”

The spirit inhabiting Quirinus Quirrell attempted to rouse its host from the stupor he’d sunk into after being forced to attack the Malfoy brat.

_Five more minutes_ , Quirrell’s spirit replied, and sank so deep that even Lord Voldemort couldn’t reach him.

Voldemort cursed loudly.

“Who’re you looking for, Professor?”

He turned gratefully. “Mr. Potter skipped detention with me this morning. Do you know whu-where I might f-find him?”

***

Daphne shrieked with laughter, then covered her mouth. It still startled her to hear her own voice raised above anyone else’s.

Her grandmother, Beryl Greengrass, was so strict about noise that all three of her granddaughters – Daphne, Astoria, and even baby Inge – kept their voices clear, cool, and well-modulated. Astoria, in particular, tried to fade into the background at all times. Beryl was a strong believer in “spare the Stinging Hex, spoil the child,” and Tori had sensitive skin.

Daphne was still getting used to so much freedom. She tried not to form bad habits – she had to return home for the holidays, after all – but laughter seemed to be addictive.

Harry’s delight in her amusement didn't help. He was playing catch with the Giant Squid, tossing a soft rubber ball into the water and waiting for two tons of muscular, magical animal to throw it back.

Every time Harry caught it, he went flying backwards, skidding a trough through the grass. On the Squid’s last volley he managed to miss the ball, which rebounded off a tree trunk and caught him in the ribs. He was coughing and laughing along with Daphne.

They didn’t see the Bloody Baron at first. The sun was unkind to the dour ghost, fading him to near-invisibility, but Daphne felt a chill and knew something was wrong.

“Harry –” she said, but the Baron interrupted.

“The Dark Lord is here, Mr. Potter! The Headmaster will be here any moment –”

“I’m so glad,” came a sibilant voice. “He won’t want to miss this.”

***

Seconds after Hermione said “He’s gone after Harry,” her bookbag exploded.

Draco caught the barest glimpse of Mimikyu, yellow eyes blazing, and was struck with a blinding headache.

Snape had flung powder into the fireplace and was mid-step, going to fetch the exorcist.

Dumbledore reacted with the speed of a far younger wizard. Hermione was trying to salvage her books (one of them, splayed on the office floor, had its cover torn half off and was making a sad mewling sound) and hadn’t realised Mimi’s blanket was still in her bag.

She would later regret not seeing Dumbledore’s clever transfiguration of a dust mote. A shimmering silver cloak burst open just above Mimikyu’s head, draping over her before Hermione could see her true form. She had a strong feeling of disaster averted, a feeling that intensified when she noticed Draco clawing at his eyes.

“Stop that! You’ll hurt yourself –”

“Miss Granger, take Mr. Malfoy to the infirmary,” Dumbledore said. “Fawkes, if you please.”

The phoenix lifted its head, displaying a crest made of flames. It launched itself from the perch and flew to Dumbledore’s shoulder, teleporting them both in a flurry of sparks.

“Let’s get you to Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said determinedly. “Then I’m going to the lake. I may be able to help somehow –”

“You’re a first-year witch,” Malfoy groaned. He’d stopped clawing at his face, but kept both hands pressed over his eyes. “If a malevolent spirit is possessing Quirrell, even Dumbledore might not be able to stop him.”

“Mimi will,” Hermione replied. “Especially if he’s threatening Harry.”

Malfoy took a step forward and groaned again. “If Pomfrey can’t fix this, please kill me.”

“So melodramatic,” she muttered. “Here, put your hand on my shoulder. We’ll go slowly.”

***

All Harry knew was pain.

Professor Quirrell, whom all the first-year students had written off as a joke, had just waved his wand and set Harry’s body on fire. Daphne was screaming somewhere, and Harry was aware of his body slowly levitating as he thrashed. It felt as though a huge hand was grinding glass into his spine, sending every nerve into spasms of agony.

There were screams from further off, followed by a crackle of spellfire. Quirrell ceased torturing Harry for a moment, letting him thud to the ground, and set up some kind of shield. They were now walled off from the castle.

“Any last words, Potter?” he taunted. “Do give your filthy Mudblood mother my regards …”

“Leave him alone!” Daphne yelled. Harry couldn’t see her, but she sounded very close. He hoped Quirrell didn’t decide to torture her next.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Quirrell said. He’d lost his stutter. “You should have died that night, Potter. Perhaps then your parents might have survived …”

_I’m about to be killed by a madman._ This was Harry’s destiny. He’d just put it off for awhile, for a few happy years …

_I have to fight._

The torture spell had disrupted his nervous system. Harry tried reaching for his wand and could barely move his arms.

_I'm going to die._ And he was alone. Mimikyu had gone with Hermione to the library.

Hermione was researching magical animals of Scotland. She had a theory, gently encouraged by her Ravenclaw mentor, that the Giant Squid was actually a rare species of Kraken.

The squid was underwater, waiting for Harry to throw the ball.

The ball was currently squashed beneath his body.

He felt his body start to rise again – he was being levitated by Quirrell, likely setting the stage for a more impressive murder – and managed to kick the ball. It rolled to the very edge of the lake.

As it touched the water, the Giant Squid raised its head.

Harry had wondered if the Squid was some sort of Guardian of the Lake. He didn’t know much about krakens, but most animals protected their territory.

Apparently, the Squid’s territory included Hogwarts students.

Two spots on its massive mantle began to glow red.

“What in Merlin’s name –” Quirrell said furiously, and then the tentacles emerged.

There were dozens of them, maybe a hundred, so thickly clustered they looked like a writhing forest. They flowed above and around Harry (and Daphne, who’d rushed over to pull him down) and stretched toward Quirrell, who aimed his wand and shouted, “ _Avada kedavra!_ ”

A single tentacle fell, curling in on itself. Five more took its place. They stretched to a grotesque length as Quirrell backed up. From his place on the ground, Harry saw several tentacles wrap around his ankles and jerk him to the ground.

“It burns!” he screamed, twisting and flailing. “Master, it’s poisoning us!”

“Cut off your feet, idiot! The creature will never let go. Sever them, or I’ll do it myself!”

Quirrell screamed again and slashed his wand through the air. Harry couldn’t see, but there was a horrible crunching sound and Quirrell’s shrieks got even louder.

“Dumbledore!” he howled, crawling further up the shore. “He’s here, Master!”

“He can’t break the shield,” another higher-pitched voice replied. Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought Quirrell was responding to himself. He really was mad.

Daphne’s arm was slung over Harry’s back. They lay beneath a wavering canopy of tentacles, hidden from Quirrell but unable to see what was going on.

“What’s that thing?” Quirrell asked suddenly.

“Potter’s familiar,” he answered himself in that cold, high voice. “Without her shield. A perfect opportunity …”

Harry jerked, but Daphne held onto him. He couldn’t stand up, or even aim his wand.

“ _Lumos Max_ –”

Quirrell screamed. The scream went on and on.

The Giant Squid retreated, withdrawing its tentacles and disappearing quietly beneath the waves.

Harry looked up and saw Mimikyu.

She was wearing a silvery cloak, a bit like his invisibility cloak, but her eyes had burned actual holes through the gauzy fabric. A stream of black smoke was pouring out, permeating the shield as though it didn’t exist and surrounding Quirrell on the ground. He’d given up crawling and was lying with both arms wrapped around his head, screaming into the grass.

Dumbledore stood beside Mimi, waving his wand at the shield and muttering. The shield fell with a concussive burst, and Daphne made a triumphant sound. 

The Headmaster strode toward them. He raised his wand and cast a red spell at Quirrell, who fell mercifully unconscious.

_Thank you_ , Harry thought, and passed out, too.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing you all a Happy New Year!


	13. The Grey-Haired Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is badly injured after the Cruciatus. Draco, Daphne, and Hermione meet up in the infirmary while exorcist Griselda Foy confers with Snape and Dumbledore and Mimi meets Griselda's mischievous familiar.

Daphne felt her friend’s body go limp. “Help us!” she shouted. Was she supposed to roll him onto his back? She didn’t know any medical spells, and Harry was lying so horribly still …

“Hold on, Miss Greengrass, and close your eyes.”

Sparks burst like blinding fireworks. When Daphne could see again, she realised that the phoenix had transported her, the Headmaster, and Harry straight to the infirmary. An instant later, a House Elf apparated in (with Mimi perched on its shoulder, bundled up in silver cloth) to deposit Quirrell’s body on the stone floor just beside a thick blue rug.

Madam Pomfrey, who was administering silvery eyedrops to Draco Malfoy, reacted with superhuman efficiency. She gave Malfoy a stern warning not to open his eyes before levitating Harry to the nearest bed. Dumbledore fielded a string of questions as she snatched potions from a huge Welsh dresser, checking labels and swearing.

Daphne felt frozen, staring at Professor Quirrell. He was still and very dead-looking. Both legs were gone below the knee. There was no blood; they simply ended.

“—less than a minute’s exposure, very well, but at his age we need to make sure—”

The fireplace flared and Professor Snape stepped out. His eyes darted around the room, narrowing at the sight of Quirrell’s body. He swept toward Harry and Madam Pomfrey as the fireplace flared again and a witch appeared, shaking the soot from her impractical shoes.

She was young, perhaps twenty-five. The long braid over her shoulder was the same shade of grey as the stone walls around them.

“Miss Foy, a pleasure to see you again – Severus, we need your expertise. Mr. Potter was exposed to the Cruciatus Curse—”

Snape spat a string of words that Daphne was not familiar with. One of them set the blue rug on fire, and Dumbledore put it out with a quick Aguamenti.

Hermione’s dismayed voice floated over her shoulder. “What’s happened? I was so scared!”

Daphne told her. Hermione blanched at the image of Quirrell speaking in two voices, ordering himself to escape the Giant Squid by severing his own legs.

“He’s dead, right? He looks dead …”

“Yes, I think so,” Daphne told her. She caught her friend’s eye and subtly tapped her own lips.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Let’s go check on Malfoy. Pomfrey cast a quieting spell on his bed-curtains – I think she didn’t want him to overhear.” She lowered her voice. “Maybe because of his father. But Quirrell tried to curse him and ordered him to hurt Mimi – surely he should be a part of this!”

Daphne glanced at Quirrell. Had his eyelids flickered? 

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of quiet,” she said. “Mimi, why don’t you come with us?”

Harry’s familiar had to be peeled from Harry’s side – Griselda Foy, the young exorcist, seemed surprised and intrigued at the sight of her – and then she hovered by Snape until the girls finally coaxed her away. She hid behind a curtain to change, discarding the silvery cloak with its two singed eyeholes.

“Mimikyu,” Hermione murmured, speaking through the curtain. “The man who hurt Harry is still alive. Make sure he doesn’t try to move, okay?”

“But he might be possessed, so don’t kill him,” Daphne added. “Unless you have to.”

Mimi emerged, looking more like herself in the yellow dress, and floated back to Harry’s side. Her eyes flashed as she passed over Quirrell’s body. 

“Let’s check on Malfoy,” Hermione murmured, and they moved toward his curtained bed.

“Looks like he fell asleep,” Daphne said. “Here, we’ll stand just inside. What’s wrong with him, Hermione?”

“He saw Mimikyu and it gave him a monstrous headache.” She bit her lip. “I hope the potion is helping. He really was in awful pain the whole walk down – he actually fell down twice. I felt so bad, but I don’t know any medical spells.”

“Let’s learn them,” Daphne said instantly. “We’ll hound Pomfrey and I’ll practise with you. If she won’t help us, we could write my cousin at St. Mungo’s.”

“I’m sure the library’s got a Healing section,” Hermione said, also perking up. “My parents would be very interested. They’d love for me to show a real interest in medicine, even magical medicine.”

“Professor Snape must have brought a specialist with him.”

“No, she’s an exorcist,” Hermione said. “From Hogsmeade, I think, or maybe London? Dumbledore knew her, too, so she must be all right.”

“The Bloody Baron tried to warn us,” Daphne said, shivering at the memory. “He said the Dark Lord was coming, and then Quirrell appeared and was talking so strangely.”

“He said it was Voldemort?” Hermione blurted, making her cringe. “Oh, I’m so sorry – that’s the Dark Lord’s name, right?”

“Yes, but most people don’t call him that. His supporters did, and so did my family, although we stayed neutral in the war … Grandmama called him a deadly creature, and says we were wise to treat him as such.” At Hermione’s questioning look, she recited: “Speak soft, bow low, and back away.”

“That sounds very peaceful,” her friend said wryly. “What are you meant to do if it attacks?”

“Then you grab a rock,” Daphne replied, surprising her into laughter.

“I hate you both so much,” Draco Malfoy groaned. 

“Oh!” Hermione said, then looked guilty. “I’m so sorry, Malfoy,” she whispered. “We thought you were asleep.”

Daphne knew better. “You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”

Draco smirked without opening his eyes.

“Slytherin,” she said, not unkindly. “We would have told you anyway. Granger here said Quirrell tried to curse you. When did this happen?”

“Just this morning, and it wasn’t Quirrell,” Draco said. “He’s been possessed, and we all know who’s back.”

“Who’s back?” Hermione said, looking confused.

“You-Know-Who,” Daphne said, “and I’m not letting this nonsense continue. The Dark Lord’s back, or at least he’s a ghost or some kind of dark spirit, and he’s been possessing our stupid Defence instructor, and he attacked Malfoy of all people, and he wants to kill Harry’s familiar on his way to killing Harry. Does that about sum it up?”

“Very succinct,” Hermione praised.

“Bloody Ravenclaws,” Draco rasped. “Very well, what’s being done?”

“Professor Snape brought the exorcist, and they’re trying to heal Harry. Quirrell cast Crucio on him, down by the lake.”

Draco blinked, forgetting that he was meant to keep his eyes closed, and swore viciously.

“I’d love to see an exorcism,” he said once the pain had lessened. “Just my luck to miss it like this.”

“You’ll be able to hear, I think,” Daphne said. “We could move you up to a closer bed. They’re not looking back here at all.”

They helped Draco up – he was moving more easily and didn’t seem likely to collapse, but Hermione kept her shoulder under his arm just in case – and made it to the fourth-nearest bed before ducking behind the curtains.

“Harry’s in the first bed,” Hermione said quietly. “Snape isn’t cursing so much, so I think he must be improving. It must have been absolutely terrifying, Daphne.”

“It was.” She didn’t care to relive it right then. “He must be insane. The Dark Lord, I mean.”

“He is.” Draco didn’t seem inclined to dwell, either.

They waited patiently for something to happen.

***

Harry was drowning in fire. Every now and then a face would swim above him like a burning god. He saw Mimi once, and reached for her, but even as he reached she floated further and further away, nothing but a yellow and black speck on the horizon …

Someone was pouring water down his throat. Thick, disgusting water that tasted of weeds and burning rubbish. He tried and failed to spit it out.

“—here, right here – now Harry, if you can hear me, just squeeze Miss Foy’s hand—”

He tried, but his nerves wouldn’t obey. The fire burned along every hair on his head, licked along the bed of every nail, coiled behind his eyes until he felt they would burst out on springs of fire …

Something else down his throat, a drink that chilled and burned like ice, and the fire disappeared.

He could have sobbed. A moment later and he felt tears running down his face, tickling his neck.

“It’s all right, Harry,” someone was saying. “Well done, Poppy and Severus …”

He squeezed the fingers tucked inside his hand. They were quite slim, and he hoped they belonged to his mother.

“He’s responding now,” said an unfamiliar woman’s voice. “Harry, squeeze twice if you can hear me.”

He did so. The voice reported back to Madam Pomfrey, who sounded pleased. 

“Now clear away from my patient, that means you, Headmaster …” 

There was a shuffle followed by sudden silence. Feeling that he had done quite enough for now, Harry faded into sleep as cool and white as a newly made bed.

***

Griselda Foy slipped her hand gently from Harry Potter’s. 

It was quite disorientating to realise that the Boy-Who-Lived was also a real person – a normal-looking eleven-year-old boy, with a scratched and bloodied face and messy black hair full of dirt. (And a scar full of Dark magic, but there was little she could do about that.) She’d taken his hand to try and offer comfort, but ended up feeling rather useless.

Fortunately, she knew how to deal with that. 

Griselda lived in a small flat above her mother's butcher shop in Knockturn Alley. She knew Dumbledore and Snape, though not well, and of course she recognised Harry Potter from newspaper photos. The woman had to be Madam Pomfrey, the nurse who had fixed her sister Essie’s femur after a bad fall down a moving staircase.

Severus Snape nodded politely whenever their paths crossed, but Griselda had thought him unaware of her occupation. Exorcists typically kept to themselves, but perhaps Essie had said something, wanting to impress her revered Potions professor.

Snape had burst out of the kitchen fireplace like a deranged St. Nicholas, snapping that Griselda was wanted at the castle right away. He’d been very lucky to find her just as she was leaving. This meant that she’d been fully dressed with her hair braided and a Muggle-style rucksack already on her back, and also that Dree had not been out back harassing the dogs but instead hanging about near the lavatory, hoping for someone to scare. Just as Snape crossed back through the fire, the mischievous familiar consented to whisk down and pop into her bag. 

(Griselda hated Floo travel, not least because Dree loved it. She stepped out of the Headmaster’s very grand fireplace with her ears ringing and her slingbacks full of soot.) 

Even though she really did feel helpless – she knew ghosts, she could work with ghosts, but Harry Potter injured and thrashing on a hospital cot was way outside her comfort zone – Griselda felt a thrill of pride. Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore knew her by name. They thought of her when they needed help.

She was also very slightly annoyed. Squibs could see Hogwarts, of course, but preferred not to be reminded of it (except for Argus Filch, whom they all took for a masochist of the highest order). Snape had caught her right before her lunch appointment with a regular client. Marta Devereaux was almost certainly waiting at their meeting place – a new Diagon Alley restaurant, Futakuchi Onna, which boasted the only all-you-can-eat sushi bar in Wizarding Scotland – and when Griselda didn’t show, Madam Devereaux might take such offence that she never contracted for her services again. That would almost certainly lead to her other French client dropping her in solidarity, and she truly loved visiting Paris …

While she was ruminating, Madam Pomfrey kicked them out for good and drew the bed-curtain. Griselda was left standing between Severus Snape, who was staring at the man on the floor as though he expected him to detonate, and Albus Dumbledore, whose blue eyes were twinkling unnaturally.

“I trust you’ve been well, Miss Foy,” he said. “How is your family?”

“Very well, thank you.” She was no good at this. “Essie, my sister Esmeralda, apprenticed to Master Bellew this year.”

Snape snorted, very quietly.

“He is a very handsome young Potioneer,” Griselda added. “Not many are so generous with their time. If only there had been an apprenticeship in Britain, we might have kept Essie at home.” 

“And your mother?”

“Still killing things and selling their flesh.”

“Very good, very good ...”

“Are we going to expel the spirit from Quirrell any time soon, or shall we tuck him in for the night?”

“Quite right, Severus, we don’t want to waste Miss Foy’s valuable time,” Dumbledore agreed. “Speaking of, Hogwarts is most willing to double your standard fee for the expulsion of a Dark spirit.”

She felt a shiver of foreboding. “A clinging soul, or a true ghost? And how Dark are we talking?”

“Very,” Severus said quietly. “We believe that an aspect … a remnant, if you will … of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has possessed my colleague.”

“That is most unfortunate,” Griselda said. “If he’s a ghost, Dree and I will be able to handle the expulsion without much fuss. If he’s an actual fragment of soul –”

“What’s the difference?” asked a slightly abrasive female voice. “Isn’t a ghost just a soul that can’t move on?”

Two other voices immediately shushed her, but the damage was done.

With a jab of Snape’s wand, the only other closed curtain on the ward rattled back to reveal three students. The platinum blond in the middle managed to look very cross even with his eyes shut, and it was easy to tell which of the two girls had spoken. Griselda admired her profusion of chestnut-coloured hair. 

“A ghost is an imprint,” she answered. “An echo of the witch or wizard who once lived, or more accurately an echo of his or her magical spirit. This is why Muggles cannot become ghosts, and no one has yet proved that Squibs can linger after death.” Yet. “Whereas all living things possess souls, in some capacity.”

“I’ve always wondered,” Dumbledore interjected. “How does a magical portrait differ from a ghost?”

“Ghosts want to leave,” Griselda replied. She’d braced herself for a much more challenging question. “They remain for a specific purpose, or because they died in the grip of overwhelming emotion. I’ve heard of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington.”

All three children looked blank.

“The man whose body was partially decapitated?” She frowned. “I don’t think Essie made him up …”

“The Gryffindor House ghost,” Dumbledore supplied. “Nearly Headless Nick is his – well, his nickname. Do pardon the pun.”

“Unpardonable,” Snape muttered.

Griselda privately agreed. “I wouldn’t know for certain without speaking to him, but it seems likely that his unfinished business is that botched execution. Anne Boleyn is another famous case … unusual pain or trauma at the moment of death can compel a haunting. If Sir Nicholas’s body were to be dug up, and the remaining strip of flesh severed, my guess is that he would move on.”

“Surely the man’s gone to dust after five hundred years.”

She met Snape’s gaze. “Have the ghost lie supine on top of his or her earthly shell. Inevitably he or she will align perfectly, no matter how degraded the remains, and you can estimate the location of physical structures based on the ghostly anatomy. Once a successful alteration is made, the spirit will reflect the changes if he or she chooses to do so.”

“They have a choice?” the girl asked, sounding very determined to know the answer.

“Naturally,” Griselda said, glad for the excuse to look away. Snape’s eyes were even more unsettling than Dumbledore’s. “Any true exorcist knows to respect the ghost. Exorcism is a process of communication and persuasion, rather than a literal ‘casting out.’ In most cases.”

“And the exceptions?” Dumbledore asked.

“The exceptions are always Dark. From what I’ve gleaned – a spirit willing to possess a human host, powerful enough to channel curses, possibly a fragment of the Dark Lord’s soul – this will be an exception.” She tried to sound confident. “This will be a casting out.”

“Please can we watch?” the male student asked. “Or listen, I suppose. Damn it all.”

The girls made disapproving noises.

“It’s fine with me,” Griselda said. “But we’ll need to put up a shield.”

There was an expectant pause.

“I’m a Squib, gentlemen.”

Snape looked slightly embarrassed and waved his wand, muttering what Griselda presumed to be a spell of protection. Dumbledore added another layer. This one shone iridescent just in front of Harry Potter’s bed, leaving the children and Madam Pomfrey behind the shield and Snape, Dumbledore, and Griselda outside of it, along with the man on the floor. 

“The disadvantage of a Dark soul fragment is that my familiar is much stronger when dealing with ghosts,” Griselda said.

“You have a familiar, Miss Foy?” the other girl asked. She had smooth pale blond hair, and her voice was cool and cultured. Obviously old-family Pureblood. She seemed friendly with Curious Girl, though, so Griselda reserved judgment.

“Since I was eleven,” she answered. “I’ve got three pairs of earmuffs in my backpack, and foam earplugs for anyone else. They’re not optional.”

The children accepted the earmuffs (pink, blue, and green), while Dumbledore took a pair of bright orange earplugs with an expression of delight and Snape conjured his own damn earmuffs. 

“Please don’t be startled,” Griselda said, raising her voice. “Dree, come out. Behave yourself.”

The little Banshee leaped from her rucksack and swooped around the room. One of the children gasped.

“Is it a mimic you?” Blond Girl asked (nonsensically, Griselda thought).

“It can’t be,” Curious Girl said. “It doesn’t hurt to look at her.”

“Could someone please describe it for me?” the boy asked, sounding pitiful.

“She’s about Mimi’s size,” the curious girl said. “I think she’s wearing a ruby necklace … her hair looks a bit like pink flames. I can’t tell if those are her legs or if she’s wearing a little skirt – she’s flying or levitating, not walking. Her eyes are yellow with red irises, and she’s sort of a bluish-green. She’s very cute,” she added, smiling at Griselda.

“Thank you.” 

“What is she?”

“A species of Banshee,” Griselda answered. “More troublemaking than deadly, but she does love to scare people. I let her out at sunset and she fits right in on the Alley.” 

Dree was actually a kind of mascot for the Severed Hind, an underground pub at the bitter end of Knockturn. She was known for pulling hair in brawls, and there was a painting of her on one wall with the legend “MISDREAVUS ABIDES.” 

Griselda didn’t fully approve, but it fulfilled Dree’s need for mischief and kept her occupied at night. Besides, it was good for her to make friends.

“Mimi, look,” Curious Girl was now saying. “Another familiar!”

Harry Potter’s familiar – which Griselda had observed on the way in, mostly due to the tentacle-like feet visible under her dress – floated up and looked quizzically at Dree. 

“Oh Merlin,” Blond Girl said quietly. “Hermione, are you sure that was wise?”

“Dree, play nice,” Griselda ordered. Much good would it do.

Mimi feinted suddenly, swirling back and up to the infirmary ceiling before disappearing behind a wooden beam. 

“She’s playing chase,” Hermione exclaimed. “I wish Harry could see her!”

Dree charged over to the beam. She had just popped up to peer over at Mimi (and shriek in her face, most likely) when Mimi levitated silently behind her, reached out a smoky black claw or possibly tentacle, and yanked her hair.

Griselda said an extremely bad word.

“Perhaps we should inter—” Dumbledore began, but was cut off by Dree’s scream.

The glass panes in a nearby cabinet broke. The potions vials rattled loudly, but didn’t shatter … unlike the window behind Griselda. Glass pattered against the backs of her legs, and she deployed an extremely bad compound word.

Snape was looking to the children and Dumbledore was casting something to separate Mimi and Dree when the man’s eyes opened.

His irises were, Griselda noticed, an even deeper red than her familiar’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for bearing with me over gaps in posting! I anticipate updating within two weeks, and will try to accelerate due to the cliffhanger :) 
> 
> Update on 03/04/19: Next chapter is in progress, but I’ve been delayed by social obligations this week (helping friends out). I’ll try to catch up and post this week!
> 
> Pokemon alluded to in this chapter include Misdreavus (based on the banshee in Pokemon canon) and Mawile (based on the Japanese monster Futakuchi-onna, a woman with a mouth on the back of her head - this one is more of an Easter egg, especially since it has an obvious parallel in Philosopher's Stone :)


	14. Infirmary Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort, still possessing Quirrell's body, fights Griselda's attempts to exorcise him as well as attacks by several Pokémon.

Ten Easy Steps to Exorcism!

(By Griselda Foy)

  1. Secure the victim of possession to a firm surface, or at least stand well back.
  2. Pour a circle of three parts sea salt to one part iron filings around the victim.
  3. If the name of the ghost or other malevolent spirit is unknown, continue the steps. If known, determine friendliness or malevolence before proceeding to Step 7.
  4. At least three other non-possessed beings or intelligent beasts should be present at any exorcism. Ideally those present will represent a victim’s loved ones, although this is not required. Direct each in turn to approach the circle, touch the victim’s feet, and ask for the spirit’s name.
  5. If no response, repeat while touching the hands. (Hands and feet are two common ports of possession; the third comprises all orifices of the head.)
  6. If still no response, the exorcist will stand at the victim’s feet; this point is “South.” Have the other three persons present stand North, West, and East, corresponding to their degrees of closeness to the victim (e.g., a beloved spouse would stand North, a parent West, and finally a sibling East). Direct them to touch the victim’s hands and head simultaneously. While sprinkling the feet with salt, demand the spirit’s name.
  7. At this point, only a hostile spirit will fail to respond. Wave the loved ones away and advise them to raise shield charms or else physical shields. Ensure that no one crosses the circle.
  8. Deploy familiar.
  9. Stick to the script.
  10. Try not to damage the body.



###

_Red, red, what to do when the eyes are red –_

She’d never seen red, not in real life, but there was a book …

Dree was circling sullenly, expecting to be scolded, and Mimi had fled to Harry as if running home, her playdate turned sour. Dumbledore had just cast a minor shield between the two familiars, and Snape was by the children – the one wearing blue earmuffs had been frightened by the shattering glass, and was now clinging to his arm as if pulling herself up from drowning –

Or no, she wasn’t frightened by the glass. It was Curious Girl, Hermione, and she was shouting and pointing toward the man on the floor. Blond Girl and Blonder Boy had their earmuffs on and seemed to be bickering.

“Dree, the circle!”

Snape’s attention snapped back to her. He drew his wand and pointed it at the man, who was sitting up in a way that looked wrong. His hips were canted oddly, and of course his lower legs were MIA. He looked, Griselda thought, like a man run over by several automobiles.

(There were only seventeen acknowledged Squibs in the United Kingdom, and all were familiar with the Muggle world. Excepting Argus Filch, of course. All he wanted in life was to stay near Mrs. Norris, an immortal demon cat cursed to wander the halls of Hogwarts until they crumbled. Honestly, the man’s name might as well have been Renfield.)

There was no time for a circle. The man’s lower jaw sagged open, and his breath reeked of copper and seaweed.

_“Give me Harry Potter. Leave the boy, or stay and die.”_

Griselda took a breath.

“Voldemort,” she said, ignoring the gasps from Blond and Blonder. “Hogwarts Castle casts you out. The Headmaster casts you out. I cast you out!”

Misdreavus was hovering, watching for her signal. Mimi was swirling ominously but staying with Harry for now, and Griselda wished that she’d had more time to observe her. She had no idea what the little familiar would do when her master was threatened.

The man gave a cold, high-pitched laugh.

_“Dead spark, you dare to command Lord Voldemort? You dare invoke my name? Powerless,_ useless, _lower than a Mudblood –”_

“Voldemort, I cast you –”

“Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore said. His wand was trained on the man’s head, but he was giving her a chance to do her job. “His true name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

The man snarled, showing his teeth like a wolf. _“I’ll eat your heart raw, old man!”_

“Gross,” one of the children muttered.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Griselda intoned. “You are expelled from this place. The Castle rejects you, the Headmaster rejects you, the host rejects you—”

“Quirinus Quirrell,” Snape murmured.

“—Quirrell rejects you, this earthly plane rejects you! I cast you _out_ of this host and _off the skin of this world!_ ”

Voldemort screamed, and Quirrell’s body writhed. The scream went on and on and Dree cocked her head, listening.

When the scream crackled into mad laughter, the banshee swooped down.

“Not yet,” Griselda shouted, “not yet, Dree, something’s happening –”

Quirrell’s back arched so sharply the top of his head hit the floor. Snape’s eyes widened, but he made no sound. One of the children screamed, and Poppy Pomfrey swore in a hushed voice. Dumbledore cast another shield.

Four spikes appeared, pushing out of Quirrell’s truncated legs and lengthening until each stump sat on a gigantic, crescent-shaped razor claw. These claws hauled the rest of Quirrell’s body upright. He looked like a nightmarish crab, absurd and horrifically _wrong._

His lower jaw still hung open, and Griselda wondered if Quirrell was even alive. Spirits were able to possess dead bodies, although only the very Darkest would stoop so low …

The creature-that-was-Quirrell scuttled toward her, tearing the Headmaster's shield like tissue paper.

###

Hermione was half-convinced she’d been trapped in a nightmare.

Harry wasn’t moving (but he was in the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey would heal him), Draco was demanding to know what was happening, Daphne was staring white-faced at something that looked like a malfunctioning T-1000 and stank of blood and low tide, and Professor Dumbledore seemed to be trying not to hurt Professor Quirrell, who pretty much had to be dead from the way he was flopping around on top of those curved steel claws …

Snape was falling back to protect Harry, Pomfrey was casting a spell that made the floor beneath the crab-thing all slippery, but it just dug its claw-points into the actual stone and flung itself toward the exorcist, who didn’t have time to step back.

There had to be something she could do, but it was all happening so fast!

“Cover your ears!” Daphne shouted, her voice muffled through Hermione’s earmuffs.

“What do you—”

Miss Foy’s familiar screamed.

###

Severus Snape was inside the Sound-Muffling and Fresh-Air Charms placed around Harry’s cot. Mimikyu was pressed against his left arm, where the Dark Mark had failed to burn.

It wasn’t even darkening, and it should have been. The Dark Lord was right here, or some part of him was, and his Mark was still invisible.

The exorcist’s Banshee familiar was hovering between her master and the horror that Quirrell had become. Snape couldn’t see her face, but he knew the moment she started shrieking. He could feel the vibration in his teeth, unpleasant as a dentist’s drill.

Dumbledore, protected by his earplugs, cast a hasty Sound-Muffling charm around himself, Poppy, and the children. The exorcist didn’t flinch.

The Banshee’s scream knocked Quirrell off-balance, razor claws gouging stone. Miss Foy had just enough time to dodge as the crab-thing regained its footing and lunged, trying to disembowel her in a single vicious swipe.

The Banshee swooped at its slack-jawed face and spat out a purple cloud. Snape saw the thing flinch, but again it failed to pass out or die or whatever the attack was supposed to accomplish.

Mimikyu went very still. Snape kept his wand out, waiting to curse the Dark Lord without drawing his attention back to Harry. He glanced down just as Mimi’s shadow streaked across the room.

The shadow stretched behind Crab-Quirrell, now snapping his jaws at the exorcist’s familiar. Dree banshee-screamed again as Shadow-Mimikyu opened glowing red eyes, pouring darkness over Quirrell's head before slapping him flat on the cold stone floor.

Snape threw _Incarcerous_ , wrapping cable tightly around the wicked claws. Poppy and Albus cast at almost the same instant, binding the torso in thin cords and braided rope.

He stepped out from behind the charms and knew Quirrell was dead. Instead of gasping for air, his colleague’s body lay eerily silent, watching the exorcist with hate-filled eyes.

_“You’ve failed, little Squib,”_ the Dark Lo—Voldemort said. (Not even Voldemort: a pathetic remnant, not to mention a cowardly murderer.)

“Even more blood on your hands, Tom,” Albus said sadly. “When will it end?”

_“Wretched old man,”_ the spirit replied. _“I haven’t begun. There are so many mortal shells, right here in this room …”_

A dark mist rose from the ill-used corpse of Quirinus Quirrell.

Snape should have seen it coming. Albus certainly should have. Poppy should have been wary for her patient.

But no one moved quickly enough, and the mist poured into Harry Potter’s body through his exposed pale feet.

***

He was right; the so-called Dark Lord was right. She’d failed.

Griselda watched as the miasma swarmed an innocent child. His poor familiar was hissing horribly, and Dree was gearing up for another shriek. Snape didn’t have his earmuffs on and was likely in for a painful surprise.

Then Fawkes, whom they had all forgotten, began to sing.

Hermione gasped, and her blonde friend began to weep. Madam Pomfrey said, “It’s all right, girls, this is phoenix song. It affects everyone a bit differently, but it can’t harm children.”

Dree huddled with Mimi, her grievance forgotten. Both familiars were crowded up against Harry’s side.

The phoenix held a quavering note. It felt like molten sunshine, Griselda thought, burning and beautiful as golden lava …

Voldemort, or what was left of him, gave a muffled shriek.

Harry’s eyes snapped open. They were so green they appeared to be glowing.

“Get out!” said the Boy-Who-Lived. 

The black mist reversed itself, pouring out of his feet, but it was fainter than before, pale grey and sickly. A tiny flame licked along one edge.

Harry’s familiar pounced. Its shadowy tentacles scooped up mist – dear Merlin, was she _eating_ it? – and Voldemort screamed again.

Griselda stepped forward and held out a clear glass bottle.

“Here,” she said gently. “I’ve infused the glass with healing herbs. Come see, it’s nice and cool, I won’t let her in after you … you’ll be safe in here …”

The mist, now very faint indeed, swirled into the bottle. When the last wisp disappeared inside, the exorcist corked it.

***

“That won’t hold him,” Professor Snape informed Miss Foy. He sounded quite condescending, in Hermione’s expert opinion.

“It’s real cork, gifted from a Dryad’s tree,” the exorcist said shortly. “Any living thing it seals is sent to sleep.”

And as they all watched (even Draco, whose eyedrops had finally worked), the grayish mist settled to the bottom and lay still.

“What now?” Daphne asked. “How do we get rid of him?”

“Before anyone says another word,” Professor Snape said, “I need to make a Floo call. After living through today, I don’t fancy being cursed to pieces by Andromeda Tonks.”

“Severus –”

“Albus,” he replied. “Her son is unconscious and the Dark Lord’s been corked in a bottle. I’m calling the boy’s mother, and not even you can stop me.”

Draco’s slow clap startled them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note regarding Pokémon in this chapter: Mimikyu and Misdreavus are, of course, the familiars of Harry Potter and the OC exorcist Griselda Foy, respectively, while Fawkes in this AU is a Phoenix/Moltres hybrid. Razor Claw is a bit of an easter egg, a held item from Gen IV that looks like a curved claw. (Sneasel levels up to Weavile after holding Razor Claw at night. Fun fact, weasels are considered bad luck in Japan, and the Sickle Weasel/kamaitachi is a demonic weasel with razor claws.) I'm adding in Pokémon as the story allows, so long as they're related to actual mythical creatures.
> 
> "Off the skin of this world" is a turn of phrase from Stephen King's Dark Tower series. The idea of an immortal demon cat comes from Naruto via The Carnivorous Muffin's extremely engaging Naruto/HP crossover, which I love even though I've never read or seen Naruto. It's just that good. (Read "Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus" first.)
> 
> Your comments and kudos are truly special to me, and I'm always excited to see them. Thank you for reading!


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